Sincerely Yours (10b/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:04:13 UTC
He's not pausing to remember the occasion he wore them for, although the days flit by anyway, and in his haste, he nearly makes a mistake. He saves it moments before the embers start their feast, close to being a sacrifice himself. The dress-- a sexy little mermaid number, risky with color-- isn't his. It's hers. The real deal. No replica, no sister, no other. She's worn it twice out, with many more sessions supposedly free from all other eyes. It's survived every donation haul. It's material, but carries a thousand sentimental diamonds. He doesn't remember why-- but he could ask and she would tell-- only that it was a gift from Dad. It hasn't touched his own skin, and he didn't steal it. He rescued it from the garbage, because she couldn't have meant to throw it there. He's keeping it safe for her.
So it doesn't go into the fire. Unlike everything else. This gets easier, and their cries get quieter. This last one-- third set of clip-on's he stashed-- fusses with enough fury for them all. "You'll Miss Me"s-- but he won't. He offers a fair fight, takes that flight down memory lane for it. With the bathroom secured by lock so his roommates wouldn't intrude, and a mini dress, they might have been his arms, but he knew her hugs once more, heard the energetic bonds of something she could say. He returns then, to Inaba's amber-tinted night. He lets it know that's all it was-- something she might say, and a sensory memory. If he snacks before dinner, there won't be room for the main course. Sugar can't sustain him. It depletes quickly, even when he gorges. And he has nothing for it but cavity upon cavity. He's brave enough to visit the dentist, let her fix him and try whichever meal plan she offers him.
The curls of metal sink into his palm as he bends them under pressure. "Farewell." They're pitched forward to the crackle of flames.
-
Last film session. He should probably be editing now, but there are a few more things he wants to add. He captures everyone, at least once, for a day-in-the-life panoramic segment. Souji smiles; Dad should like this gift. A rootless hiccup jolts his body. He almost drops the camera, reminding himself, It's an exchange. The prickling sensation creeps over his legs, ribs, and arms anyway. Lately, this keeps happening. Any time he thinks about the next time they'll speak, it's like a phone call with no one on the other line. And every time he corrects the mentality, it's like a game of checkers when he plays both sides.
He decides to read over some letters tonight.
-
The sun and moon have switched shifts, and Souji's having a mild conversation with the stars. It's soothing to think Mom and Dad could be looking at these same stars. An idea flits across his consciousness. Maybe, if he tells the little bits of light a secret, his parents will hear it too. He gives it a shot.
"I've been eating Uncle's desserts recently. You don't think he'll find out, do you? I'll make it up to him. They'd just go bad, sitting there, right? Maybe I won't eat the next one, and we'll see." At that, a knock bounces off his door, raising Souji's hair. Did Dojima notice? The gentle grin on his face from the doorway says otherwise. Truthfully, his mind's in the same place as Souji's, and he's here seeking company for a grander view of the night sky. Souji agrees at once.
It's when the car wakes up with a yawn that danger trickles into his skin. He asks why Nanako isn't coming; she'd love something like this. Her bedtime, he says. But the clock on the dash glares suspiciously otherwise. The old van feels smaller driving down the street, and sliding down the window only gives the cage bars to ease its once solid walls.
They roll a while in silence, the joyous mood disintegrating with each turn of the tires. Then Souji remembers that his parents can't see the stars. They wouldn't have heard him.
"Where are we going?"
He doesn't get a straight answer the first time, and decides not to try again. It's a long ride. Stargazing slumps to the back of his mind.
Sincerely Yours (10c/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:05:37 UTC
The radio's singing jazz, but no one's there to listen. Souji's buried beneath a rash of irrationality, working to claw his way out. The scenery isn't helping. He's positive, at least ninety-eight... ninety-four percent, they won't stop in this area. Only if they need something. Like gas. Wide, partially gray eyes swivel toward the meter, confirming that scenario won't happen any time soon. They return to the window, more calm knowing that. The dry, sandy fields are like what she described ages ago-- barren, not counting the critters waiting to feast on smooth little boy flesh. She would leave him alone out there, driving as if she couldn't get away fasts enough. Die in a place he doesn't know the name of-- she coined that to be the best part.
Or, she might have. Souji thinks she wouldn't really, but at the time... Right now, it hardly seems real. Helps that it's dark now, meaning the sun couldn't bake him crunchy. But she had stories for the moonlight too, right? He wonders if asking her today would draw out a few true tales.
That's when his gaze, idle on the road ahead joining a highway, snapshots a particular sign. One he dreamed of, that somehow, is a nightmare in reality. Some dreams aren't meant to come true. This is one of them.
"Uncle..."
"Figure out where we're going?"
Souji can't listen beyond that, mind digging up ways to escape this awful mess. Blank. Bad. Insane. Empty. Nothing viable. All he finds, is that once you're so close to the end--
"15 minute countdown."
--the only way out is in.
He always thought this would be easier. Parked in the complex, he should simply be happy, excited, bounding out there. But right now, his hands are shaking, and he can't even undo the seatbelt. His uncle releases it, tells him to relax, "It's only family." Oh, that makes it worse. So much worse. Next, he's stumbling out the van, being caught by an arm before his face hits the pavement and-- how can this be nerves or elation? Can't he see, he doesn't want this, never wanted this?
If this were truly a desire deep in his heart, would he be running ahead like he is? Telling his uncle to hurry up, he's a slowpoke and wasting precious seconds? Would his palms be on the man's back, shoving with all his might until they're on the right landing? Could the light in his eyes, and smile upon his face be enough to shine the way, even with every other bulb extinguished? Perhaps, just maybe, there could be a small, itsy-bitsy, wish for this.
It won't change the fact he can't have it.
There's no answer. He rings the bell again, lips slipping into a line. He tries his hardest to ignore the panic washing over his brain. "Did you tell them?"
"I had them keep the night open."
Still, no answer. Not that he expected otherwise. "Did you tell them why?" Dojima shakes his head, but it's for the best. They could've said no. Ha, that's too easy. They'd say, ask Souji. Then, it's his decision. His responsibility to resist temptation, and answer correctly. "Call." It's all he can ask without screaming. Or crying.
He stands at the railing, a little ways away while his uncle begins dialing, so as not to hear the voice on the other end, spoil his surprise. His face is hot, too hot for a November night. When did he let go? Say it was alright, give himself the chance to feel glad he might--
"Said they're home."
Souji stares at the oversized door, which hasn't moved. "Are we at the wrong place?"
"Yeah." The answer makes his heart flutter, despite everything. "It's out of the way, but not too far." How sure Dojima is, already down a couple stairs; must not have realized it, but he's the only one moving.
Souji's got his sticky hand attached to the railing, scouring his insides for any glimmer of courage. It's his one chance to back out.
His one chance to jump in.
There's no easy answer-- one's hard to say, but the other impossible to swallow. He'd like more time, just to think it over. But if he doesn't choose now, there won't be a choice.
It's been such a long, long time. And he counts in days, not weeks or months, because every agonizing moment spent away is engraved on his soul.
Sincerely Yours (10d/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:11:26 UTC
"Souji?"
But he's not ready to break yet. "I'm not going."
"Why's that?"
It burns his throat to say this, and freezes the blood in his veins to do so looking Dojima in the face. But, he needs to stand this ground. "We're not on the best of terms right now, so--"
"A real reason."
"That is..." Souji stops himself, put off by the man's annoyed sigh.
"Give me a break," he mutters to the ground. There's not a fraction of happiness along his countenance traveling back up the stairs. "A month ago, you were in tears--" Souji flinches. "--you missed them so badly. Five minutes ago, we couldn't get here fast enough. Now, you don't want to go at all?" He stops at the edge of the landing. "Work harder on your jokes, Souji. I'm waiting for the punchline."
His mouth is moving, but he knows nothing intelligent can break free of the knot stuck in his throat. It's a tangle of despair, fear, and indignation. "You...you think I'd--" Because he make friends with the fact that verbal slap came from someone he assumed would never catch on. "...joke about this?"
"Makes more sense, don'tcha think?"
Souji stares. He's furious to a point where his brain just shuts down and lets the rage take control. "It doesn't have to make sense. I don't want to go. So, I'm not. End discussion."
"This discussion ends when I say it ends. You're not the one driving. Now, I suggest you get your act together if you want any say in where we're headed."
He shakes his head and whatever thoughts are in it. "I don't need you. At all."
"Do you even hear yourself? Thinking you're a somebody." He sneers, sizing Souji up. "Know who you really are? A boy. In need of his parents."
"Yeah? What would you know about a child's needs? You can't even care for your own daughter!"
The silence cools him down enough to realize what he said. Dojima massages the back of his neck, gaze lost in the floor. Well... it will be worth it. He can't lose this. Feelings are the smallest thing at stake, here.
Souji walks forward, but his foot can't reach a step before his sleeve gets crumpled by a fist. "I'm not done yet." Fighter. "Let's say I believe your sorry ass excuse."
"It's the truth," he whispers.
The laugh is short, harsh, barely reaches his ear. "Right. I don't doubt it. But there's gotta be more to your little story. That aside. Why not make up with them? Face to face."
"We need more time." More specifically, "I need more time."
"Hasn't it been too long already? I see it on your face. You're scared."
"I'm not scared!" It's an absurd notion. An easy conclusion when no other rational answer presents it self. ...Right?
"Bet you're terrified."
He's not playing this game, not going to let things get any closer. "Think what you want." He turns to leave, and feels his shoulders seized immediately. A rough jerk twists him back around, forces him to confront a stare that holds him stronger than the hands upon him.
"I'll take your word. But you need to justify it. If it's not fear, what is it?"
He has an answer. It's not one he should tell his uncle. Partly because he might take it the wrong way. But he also loves the little secret; it's something they share, just the three of them. He wants to keep it that way, because they haven't been able to share much lately. But that makes him feel exposed underneath this pair of cold, scanning eyes. So he thinks of the first reason, that it's necessary, and shuts his eyes.
"Can't even tell me that?"
The guilt invades, hearing a note of concern in the question. He zips his lips, tries to maintain a neutral expression and ignore the hammering within. Eventually, the grip on his arms loosens and Dojima turns.
"Good to know you'll have it all cleared up by Christmas, then."
Souji's inner celebration ends instantly. "She told you?!" He's over the edge before any defense could catch him.
He dangles every bit from the lack of response. He just stands there until Souji's so desperate he asks again. He's rewarded with a slow nod and Dojima's full attention.
Re: Sincerely Yours (10e/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:13:57 UTC
"It didn't stop there. She confessed to something else. I found it very peculiar."
"What...might that be?" There's a tingling near the base of his skull, offering escape. He doesn't have to hear this. Shouldn't. He could switch now, accept the blindfold, embrace the headphones that sing him to sleep.
"When's the last time you two spoke?"
It's tempting, forgetting whatever trauma implants itself next. "You know." He declines this offer, for once.
"I'm asking. I want to hear it from you."
I want to hear you lie. That's what he means. Again, the tingling. Again, he refuses. It's dangerous, yes. He can almost see the scythe and skeletal face waiting for him. But he can't let his familiar self, however clever and powerful and confident, shield him again. He can't.
So, he takes a deep breath. Answers the question. "Spring. Before I moved here."
"That's what she told me." No surprises.
"But we write letters!" he rushes in, not wanting to give the wrong impression. "...Easier to talk about nice things that way."
"Strange. I heard she hasn't written a single thing. Not this year. Not last year. Never received anything either. Of course, you text all the time. It's the new thing."
"She's lying." Obviously. He has proof, right on his desk. Something lands in the box once a month, or every other week more now. "She's embarrassed."
"I can't believe that. Well, actually I can." He pinches the bridge of his nose, recalling an unpleasant experience, perhaps. "But not with the way she acted. Every opportunity she found, she asked something. 'How is he doing? Did he make any friends? Does he like it there?' You know, the basics. They would come up in any of your conversations."
"Cross checking. A different perspective, because maybe I wasn't telling the truth."
"She said the same thing. It's weird, like a script you rehearsed. Your mother likes to talk Souji. Even if she's mad, I'm sure she'd call, just to let you know how upset she is."
He's right. "It's different, this time." The numbers in his phone are more comfort, not temptation. He learned in the beginning, when he wasn't so committed, how they'll need to be dialed from another line, because the ringing won't stop if it's under his name. He blocked it once, and hearing her pick up had to be the most horrible sound the world could produce. It doesn't matter if he can call them; if they simply don't want to speak to him, why bother? He left voicemails, once upon a time. Even wondered if they checked it, listened all the way through or hung up in between. He lost the guts, or maybe gained the respect, to not do that anymore.
"I'm sure you won't tell me why--" Souji hums, just to confirm. "--I'll skip that part. Now she has to lie about her location? Swears she hasn't been in the country recently. No plans on coming back until next year, even. Why don't you explain that one away?"
It's a challenge Souji can't best. He can't fathom any reason to conceal it. Not when evidence is everywhere else. It doesn't make sense to lie to her son, either. Because what would that do? Excite him? Test him? Crack him? She wouldn't do something like that, unless she had to. So, it must be true.
Sincerely Yours (10f/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:14:52 UTC
Unless Mommy didn't write them, in which case--
"You shouldn't be snooping around in the first place! It's none of your business!" He screams it loud enough to derail his own thoughts. But it doesn't help, and he's left with the wreckage.
"Excuse me?" Insult permeates his features until vexation dominates again. "I called because I wanted to do something nice for you, since you work so hard. Not my fault you're part of a great cover up."
"So, what? Thought you were doing me some sort of favor?" If he weren't so upset, he'd roll with laughter. "Like I needed anyone's permission, let alone yours, to come here? Did you think I wouldn't jump on the first train here? If I'm really as lonely as you say, do you think anything would stop me?"
He takes his time, just watches Souji, wary as one might be of lion caged for years, now hunting for blood-- for the life of whomever seeks to open those impassable steel doors. "No. I didn't think about it at all. But, now that you mention it, which of the almighty forces of nature kept you away?"
And he feels every bit a scorned beast on the brink. "Wouldn't you like to know."
The inquisitor stares, as if waiting for something. Whatever it is, he never gets it. His head rests against his palm. Finally, a sigh brimming with tired frustration materializes in a glacial puff. "Fine. Don't tell me. But I hate to seeing you suffer alone like this. I hope you know I meant it when I said you could come to me about anything, but..." He did, he honestly did, but if he says that now, a hollow sound is all anyone will hear. "Anyway, that wasn't my goal today."
Curiosity's enough to sew Souji's mouth shut.
"When I was talking to your mother, and she couldn't identify any of the letters I read--"
"What. Did you say?" He grinds it out, controlling his breathing with minimal success, and his fear with far less.
"Did I stutter? I read them t--"
"You had no right--"
"She asked me to--"
"You read them to her?"
"Yes, I did. But that shouldn't be a problem, considering she wrote--"
He can't listen anymore, not with the screeching and blistering sores exploding through his reality. "Why? ...Why. Why. Why why whywhywhywhy--"
"Souji?" He smacks away the hand coming to rest on his arm.
"WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY!" He can't focus straight. "Why would you--" The look on her face, must've been... And what she'll assume; the state he must be in, a damage not worth repairing...
And when the voice infiltrating his head cuts through the noise, it spouts mess about, "--thering at Christmas? You're definitely not going. Alone, at least. And anything else from that fraudulent sender will be screened for--"
"No."
"Souji, you don't get a choice, it's--"
"I said. No." He needs to fix this; he can fix this.
"I'm not budging on this one. It's dangerous. Besides, I'm sure your parents don't appreciate being misrep--"
"Don't." They don't get a say. "Finish your sentence, go ahead."
He refuses the dare, but it possibly more for Souji's benefit than his own. "This is hard on you, I know. And I'm sorry. I brought you here hoping for an explanation. But if you think this is all real, when it's not, then it can't continue. I'm stepping in."
"You don't have a right to do this." His voice is so weak it breaks in half.
"I'm your guardian. I won't let anything happen to you."
"But nothing's going to happen."
"You know this for a fact?" Souji struggles to find something positive to wield. "Explain." But it doesn't work. He can't justify anything without saying more than he wants to. Then there's a palm on his shoulder. As if it could soften the verdict. "Listen, Souji..." He can't do as he's told, can't accept this as being over.
Sincerely Yours (10g/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:16:00 UTC
There's a nagging in his psyche that's steadily grown louder all night. It begs him to evaluate the commitment he made not so long ago-- take another look around. He argues back-- he's done a good job, cleaned out his closet. Isn't that enough? This isn't the same, not a trashy placebo. This cannot be a sacrifice. It would make things insufferable. Just this one, that's all he needs. There's nothing wrong with that.
But what can he do? Nothing to bribe with. No feasible threats. No logic to employ. Time has no patience. Maybe he won't do anything. Dojima can read the letters, no he can't, and afterward he'll let Souji. And he can reply, or Dojima can, with careful questions to find out, like always. A monitored exchange, staged and invaded by persons not meant to see. Or, they'll arrive and Souji won't touch a thing because it's the wrong impression of Mom and Dad.
He wouldn't survive either.
But what could stop it, unless... No. Out of the question, never an option, nothing to consider. Except that he might be able to live with this. Maybe. If he plays the right cards, and scratches this whole ordeal off as a drug induced hallucination. Yeah. Right. It's the end of the road. He can't turn back. Can't go in reverse. At least with this, the funeral may be more white.
So, he tugs his uncle's sleeve, ready to walk with death. He speaks at a volume that barely carries over the buzzing of his tender nerves. "I know how it is." No answer. He repeats it, clearer this time. "The sender...I know who--"
"I heard you." Souji waits, because Dojima must need a moment. "Let me get this straight. When I asked you the first hundred times if you knew the letters were fake--" drinking that word is is a bit like poison. "--You swore your parents were lying. All of sudden, they're telling the truth, and you know who's been writing them?" He nods, saving his breath for the question coming up. But even with a grasp on the situation, his uncle does nothing more than eye him, with disgust the only readable emotion. "Tch. I'm glad for you. Now, do me a favor, and keep it to yourself. Don't think I could believe anything that comes out of your mouth."
The fabric slips past his fingers. He stands by himself on the landing while the strong figure moves farther away. Away from him. Because who wants to associate with a liar?
He has the decency not to plead. How could he? When he's already been given so many chances. Didn't he want this? To tend his own devices. No curious onlookers, scrutinizers, or helping hands. This is not the fate he meant to raise, but it is the one he earned. Stranded, right where he belongs in the lake of his small world. Stuck on his proud rock of lies to fall against a tide he knows is coming. Hiding from the lighthouse means he'll have no way back. It should be best, he's gone so far to protect anonymity. But he cracked at the last moment. At this point, it doesn't matter if he never tells Dojima. If he returns tonight and opens an envelope, he won't finish the page pretending it's from her.
And it wrenches his heart, knowing that's not the problem.
Brittle as his soul may be, he steeled himself to take that back with him. But no degree of warning could brace him for the sight of watching someone leave with such intent that he can count the miles adding up with each step down. Given the option, he'd trade all the letters cluttering his desk to not play witness now. Because how many letters will he have to write to himself again, next year? And how many to be signed, Uncle Ryo?
Sincerely Yours (10h/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:17:06 UTC
"Stop!" He's not entitled to this. It's low, despicable, and maybe he should be condemned. "Stop!" But he caves, holding nothing in his hands to lose. "Please, just..." Even knowing he deserves the cold shoulder, it's not enough to convince him this outcome is alright. "Let me finish!"
Dojima pauses, feet planted on the third landing. "Why should I believe you?"
Souji almost trips on his way down, excited to receive even the slightest of surrendered seconds, and halted at the hangman's simple speech. He doesn't risk a step without answer, afraid time will fall from what feels like gracious suspension.
His chest tightens and twists, knowing his first reason is a sugarcoated tale. He forsakes it, settles an unguarded reply. "This isn't a bargain. You're going to read them, even if I tell you, right?" He chances a tiny step towards his uncle, who nods in reply. Mentally, it aches that he hoped against that punishment, even given standing situation. "Then, this is just me, confessing to you." His listener remains silent, and Souji continues forward, both by stair and story. "We don't text, we don't talk. There's been nothing at all, since Spring.
"I knew the letters weren't...." He fights the tears. He's a big boy now. "...from them." He said it. That's one step he hopes is forward. "I wanted... I needed something to keep the distance away. Like anything could..." He laughs at himself. "...But I needed someone. Someone who would do this. For me." Thinking of this someone pulls a brief smile and pushes him to cross the landings with greater strength. "Not an easy find. They had to know enough about my parents, to give me something I could believe. Patience. To put in endless hours, all to change their hand to something I might recognize as familiar. The dedication to keep this going long term. Someone who wouldn't question my desire, or force me to fix things, or...make fun of it.
"And I needed to trust them. I'd be sharing my secrets with whoever it was, after all. I didn't know anyone at the time, so I really had no options." Slowly, he sets down a foot on his uncle's landing. "But I knew it could be pulled off, with the right method." What little control remains he focuses on breathing, and persuades himself to look up at Dojima. It's not easy, to let himself be pierced by that impassive gaze. All he can think is please believe me. "I found out that if they're done ahead of time, I won't remember. Then there's a certain time, in between dreams, where you can't recall anything that might happen. So, I used those two things, and took in everything else, and I..." The railing's not enough. He transfers his hand to a buttoned up shirt, lays his head against it too, and that way he doesn't have to look. "I wrote one letter. Then the next. Another after that. And they never wrote back, so I did it for them." He shuts his eyes when the burning is too much. He says it, quieter, "I wrote them. All of them." It's chopped by hiccups. He can't help the hot tears racing down his face, or stop the sobs from choking his windpipe. He stops trying to restrain them when he recognizes his lips are pulled into a smile. It might be harder to breathe, but the air he does manage to swallow replenishes all the needs he neglected for so long. He feels lighter, and his limbs relax like an athlete that tried sprinting a marathon. It does still hurt, the arms holding him tight remind him of that, and it's sharp like needles. But it's small, minuscule, weak, compared to the overwhelming happiness splashing over him.
He never pictured it feeling this way, so good. All he ever could imagine was sinking into a dark pit, agonizing as quicksand, the moment he opened his mouth. Like running from a shadow, when it was the sun all along.
He told himself not to cry. But he needs an outlet, or he might die from joy. So, he decides not to keep track, lets go of the score, and holds tight to what really matters.
-
Souji spots the friendly note from the top of the stairs. A line of sticky tape secures it to the door at a height Nanako couldn't reach. One solid line: I didn't read it.
Sincerely Yours (10i/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:17:49 UTC
He's stalling by not opening the door immediately. He fingers the text, and spares a second, a minute, for gratitude. Grateful because no matter who writes them, they're still personal, and he breathes easier without another pair of pupils over his shoulder. Yet, that's not the best part. He's far more thankful to hear the underlying trust given once more. With peace of mind, he dazedly pops the door to a region he's come to consider a safe haven-- all bad memories shoved out a window. Normally, mail from home wouldn't be grouped with those. But today's different.
He feels locked inside, squaring off against a box, but what is he to do? The gift does nothing to entice him, its unique flavor soured just nights before. It sits, lonely because his hands don't ravish its blind surface. He doesn't have the nerve to touch it. Nor does he want to lay hands on it for any kind action. Souji wonders if his mother felt this way, staring at him, something she crafted and sickened by the fact. A truth they can't deny; something so pathetic came from her. A crime he's now given birth to himself. And still, repulsive as it is, both need that injustice to survive, like water for their bodies.
He fools with the idea of falling asleep and waking with an oblivious memory. It summons the past, a day he remembers fondly. After finally having written a letter in straight mentality, the world granted him a small miracle. He slipped into blissful dreams, sealed letter clasped within tiny hands. Dawn prickled his eyes open, and the dim light glistened on the treasure found atop his belly. His desolate face morphed into one of scary excitement as he tore into the devilish sweet destined to end his starvation. Her honey glazed tone bewitched him into believing winter ended, and summer came to visit. The spell broke once he tried to answer a blank address. He longed to bury himself-- partially crushed by sadness, more ashamed he harbored such deceitful hope. Only deserving boys received fairytale endings, silly. But the trickery inspired a manipulative method he would later use.
He abandons that tactic in a gutter, now. Admitting it aloud condemned him to this destination. Once awake, it's impossible to embrace the same dream.
The voices reverberating within scare Souji from time to time. They do so now, as he hears the all too simple words, it's okay. His response emerges as another language, one of pure emotion, and it frightens him, possibly more. Because he knows, he understands what's been said, even if a piece of him doesn't desire the power, the responsibility, it entails.
But he agrees, regardless, unable to stop it-- It is okay.
It's okay.
Perhaps, better than okay. Because truth isn't free. It comes at the price of fiction. He consented while watching every thread turn to ash, it was a fortune worth spending.
He can handle opening it himself. All he needs is a little help, someone to hold his hand. It's not outrageous to ask, and vastly better than hiding and watching. A similar set of hands ghosts over his own sitting atop the cardboard. It's the security he wished for, a steady presence to catch him if he falls.
He pries apart the package; inside is a series of warm weather guards, all chic and high end brand. He must have picked these up on one of the nights he came back with a dress. He doesn't remember them, but that was the point. One by one, they pool on his lap-- scarf, earmuffs, gloves. Perfect timing. He'll wear them tomorrow. At the bottom is a letter, every curve of the pen a replica to hers.
He picks up the paper, and finds it shaking like on a bus ride through unpaved territory. So he uses the table as his music stand, and crumples his fists beside each knee.
Sincerely Yours (10j/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:18:46 UTC
Dear Souji,
It's happened again. We heard a suspicious noise before leaving for work today. Turns out it was just a cat. Then your father disappeared during lunch and never returned. I thought he got pulled to work on another project, but when I got home, guess where he was? Sitting outside playing with the cat brigade. I finally dragged him in, but he hasn't stopped sneezing. What should we do with him? I vote auctioning.
Ah. Right. He's fairly certain his father isn't allergic to cats, but it's a nicer reason than the one he was given for leaving behind Cat Burger. If this were to be her way to make amends, Souji would feel open to apologizing too.
How do you like the presents? When I found these in the window, I envisioned you wearing them much better than the mannequin. I hope you didn't already buy something yourself. Then again, it wouldn't matter, would it? These can be your favorite! Your father's sending a coat soon, so be on the lookout for that! I can't be there to keep you warm personally, but maybe these'll do the trick?
Speaking of, it's gotten so cold around here! Seems like I'm not used to the weather changes in my own home anymore. No one in the office can agree on a stable temperature, so I take my breaks at the coffee shop a little ways down. They have a delicious strawberry cake (which can be drizzled with chocolate if you know who to talk to!), but...it's one of the few things that still taste sweet, so I try not to eat it often. Don't wanna grow immune to that too. Everything else is the same, alternating between bland and bitter. I've been everywhere: five stars to no stars, and even our classics. Your father says they're divine, so I guess it's just me. I wish this condition were new, but it's been so long I can't remember how some signature dishes tasted in the first place. Even the smell and texture deny me pleasure-- the lot's got a putrid odor and slimy skin. I could eat the same thing day after day for all the difference it makes. This... She's suffering. Like he is, because they're separated. Why else would he want her to write a sad experience? Of course, that wouldn't be healthy. Thankfully, I haven't had any dreams where lobsters disembark from a plate to chew my face off (or chase me down never-ending flights of stairs). Magic words, successfully restoring cheer.
Oh yes, and Souji, thanks for the box. I haven't done extensive testing with it, but so far the nightmares are less frequent. I wonder why it works. Could it be that its intended purpose is effective, or is it the gift aspect? There's a theory circling my head, but it's probably better if I don't say. Plus, I have your CD. It doesn't do a thing for dreams, but I wouldn't have any of those if I couldn't get to sleep, right? I play it at night when hundreds of problems gallivant through the fields in my head. The songs are beautiful, so I always think of you. Much better than any teddy bear. The best lullaby I've ever drifted off to ♥
His hands unfurl at that, because he didn't expect her to listen. What are the odds, that he would get a positive reply to a matter so coincidental? He's never recorded anything before, so to predict that he would so far in advance... Maybe he knows himself better than a book.
Our little star... Yep, sounds right. I'm surprised you like that name...it's so vain! Guess you do take after me! The sound of her laughter, bold and bright, lends itself to the cause. Now, toss this in your noggin: you're asking about a difference which doesn't exist. Stars on TV, stars in the sky, are all the same. Why do you think they share the name? You wish upon the lights at night, and shove those same dreams on whatever famous dove you find. Stars always burn out too. That's why you should watch your hours, before they slip into weeks and years you can't remember spending anywhere. There were dark, discouraged times where he didn't exactly try his hardest. Is this a reminder of that?
Sincerely Yours (10k/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:19:46 UTC
It's OK if you don't want to make like bunnies, but this youth won't last forever. There are things I expect from you, but I still want you to have fun. Don't get so tied up in my wants that yours become phantom energies.
My life _____ | _____ Your life.
Understand? It gives me chills when you put your foot down. I can't promise you'll always get your way, but show that moxie! Just what he wanted her to say. Maybe what she's been trying to say too. If he pages through a mental photo album and compares instances of her utmost satisfaction and disappointment, are they really so disjointed? Could she have grinned if he didn't throw in the towel so often? Would she have ignored him and gone about her day if he hadn't found a loophole in her plan? He'll find out, if given another chance.
I trust you to make good decisions. Of course, being human we can't always do that, which is my undercover reason for probing. I wanted to see if you could still depend on me. At times, you'll get in over your head, but don't be too resentful or scared to talk to me. Alright? I know it's more like you to choose your father. I'm a bit of a wicked witch, aren't I? It's fine. Just don't keep your fears bottled up. He has no recollection of ever feeling bitter enough to shun either of them throughout this process. Perhaps another student supplied the concern. It's not too farfetched from a subject that might wind her up. I worry about you... Even though I shouldn't. My little brother's taking good care of you.
He tattled so much when we were kids! Couldn't keep a single secret. Makes sense he'd turn into a cop. I just know he'd arrest me if he found out certain things. There was one time I stayed out five minutes past curfew when Mom and Dad were out. 5 minutes!!! And I got grounded for a week because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Never-mind that he should've been in bed himself. "She woke me up coming in late." Please. He stayed up all night with his video games He laughs, but every trace of it is erased by the letter's end.
That was a harmless occasion, but not all of them followed that rule. He never caught me on the worst days, and I got away with a few suspect activities.
Have you ever wanted to be forgiven so badly it drove you crazy? You'd confess, or beg, even bargain? Anything to help, despite the senseless stupidity? Every now and then, I get those urges. Then I remember it never works for me. It's the punishment I seek. Which would you prefer, Souji? To move on, anyway.
Love, Mom
He might have desired reassurance at her guilt, but what possessed him to drum up a question with such a glaring answer?
-
He's going to write them. How could he not? He'll do so until there's nothing left to say.
Dear Mom & Dad,
I saw Mr. Hoppity in the lawn yesterday. He stuck around to play a bit, but I think he misses Nanako. I gave her a picture incase he doesn't come out until Spring again. I'm trying to make her stay a little brighter, especially when they lock us out. My friends and I are making pinwheels to hang from the ceiling, and ribbons for her bed. She'll find a rainbow anywhere she looks ♪ We also carrying out operation: Distract Dojima. He has too long to sit and think. I lent him a pack of cards to practice tricks with, and assigned him homework so he can't slack off. So far, he's flunking: D-! The nurses giggle every time he messes up. He needs to shape up!
Your gifts are perfect, Mom! They're so cozy ♥ Thank you! It's getting chillier by the hour. Countdown to winter! Hope it snows soon.
I'm so glad you liked the CD! I didn't want to ask, because you might've needed more time with it, but the nerves were chewing away at me! I'm happy you sleep better at night, too. That's all I really wanted. ...Being the cause is going to keep me up all night grinning.
Sincerely Yours (10l/?)
anonymous
June 12 2012, 02:20:45 UTC
Mom, it's okay. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have screamed you chased him away. I'm sure he liked me too. I don't think it was anyone's fault he ran away. Cat Burger's gotta be a drifter, right? Like us. Thanks for helping me look for him. Saying goodbye made it easier. Oh, and I don't think you should auction Dad. We wouldn't get much. Let's just sit him in time-out.
I'm trying to earn forgiveness right now. I couldn't live with the punishment alone. I think a little of both is best to move on with. I don't know what you did, but if you're sorry, you've taken one step forward already. I hate seeing you so hard on yourself. Please? Even if you have regrets, aren't there some things you always want to remember?
You're going to worry me. Get your thoughts out of the dark, Mom. If it's too much for me to handle alone, I'll tell you. Nothing's going to change that.
And don't try to scare me. I proudly accept my role as your little star. Stand by watching. One day, you'll be amazed. When that happens, he hopes she'll crown him with the title again.
Love, Souji
He squeezes it into an envelope. Stamps it. When the bottom drawer pops open, he's surprised to find the mailbox missing. Instances of a few weeks past skitters through his mind, reminding him that he threw it into the TV. He frowns, but it's not a problem. He'll just put this one somewhere safe and private, like the last one.
Where did he put the last one?
The mailbox, his brain supplies. The residential mailbox.
Alright, so he'll...just...
What.
He did, he remembers. But why? What infected his sense of reason. Not that it matters. It should have been returned to him. Because the address doesn't exist. It never does.
Except this once, because a caring uncle pulled up to the flat and his nephew knocked on the door and why wasn't it returned? Souji remembers his parents getting bills that weren't theirs when they moved to a new place. They never kept them. Is this not the same? Maybe the apartment is vacant, and no one could return the mail. Yes.
He stretches and maybe pulls a heartstring, because it's a bit of a dreadful snap when it occurs once again that he doesn't have his personal mailbox. He won't get another letter from them unless he writes it himself-- in the exposing light. And he just can't handle that right now. It's easier to not receive a response at all.
At least he deserves a pat on the back for concocting the best batch of letters yet. How strange would it be for Mom to mention Dojima-san if he stayed at another boarding school? Then again, it's another brand of strange for them to answer his questions on cue, enjoyable as it was. Must be the magic of subconscious. And then to change addresses so he could receive their letters faster was probably his most clever idea. But his favorite experience was receiving gifts. The flowers were beautiful.
Otherworldly beautiful.
And so fresh.
It should have been impossible to arrange the delivery of fresh flowers a year in advance to a house in a city he might not have stayed at.
The second hand on his clock steadily revolves from twelve to eleven.
Souji decides that sometimes if it should be impossible...
it is impossible.
Very unexpected hiatus. Hoping it won't happen again. Thanks to anyone still sticking with this!
Re: Sincerely Yours (10l/?)
anonymous
August 23 2012, 05:39:46 UTC
In looooove with this fic I love how you write Souji its so ansty and perfect and im really curious to see how you end it too I hope you follow it through to the end
So it doesn't go into the fire. Unlike everything else. This gets easier, and their cries get quieter. This last one-- third set of clip-on's he stashed-- fusses with enough fury for them all. "You'll Miss Me"s-- but he won't. He offers a fair fight, takes that flight down memory lane for it. With the bathroom secured by lock so his roommates wouldn't intrude, and a mini dress, they might have been his arms, but he knew her hugs once more, heard the energetic bonds of something she could say. He returns then, to Inaba's amber-tinted night. He lets it know that's all it was-- something she might say, and a sensory memory. If he snacks before dinner, there won't be room for the main course. Sugar can't sustain him. It depletes quickly, even when he gorges. And he has nothing for it but cavity upon cavity. He's brave enough to visit the dentist, let her fix him and try whichever meal plan she offers him.
The curls of metal sink into his palm as he bends them under pressure. "Farewell." They're pitched forward to the crackle of flames.
-
Last film session. He should probably be editing now, but there are a few more things he wants to add. He captures everyone, at least once, for a day-in-the-life panoramic segment. Souji smiles; Dad should like this gift. A rootless hiccup jolts his body. He almost drops the camera, reminding himself, It's an exchange. The prickling sensation creeps over his legs, ribs, and arms anyway. Lately, this keeps happening. Any time he thinks about the next time they'll speak, it's like a phone call with no one on the other line. And every time he corrects the mentality, it's like a game of checkers when he plays both sides.
He decides to read over some letters tonight.
-
The sun and moon have switched shifts, and Souji's having a mild conversation with the stars. It's soothing to think Mom and Dad could be looking at these same stars. An idea flits across his consciousness. Maybe, if he tells the little bits of light a secret, his parents will hear it too. He gives it a shot.
"I've been eating Uncle's desserts recently. You don't think he'll find out, do you? I'll make it up to him. They'd just go bad, sitting there, right? Maybe I won't eat the next one, and we'll see." At that, a knock bounces off his door, raising Souji's hair. Did Dojima notice? The gentle grin on his face from the doorway says otherwise. Truthfully, his mind's in the same place as Souji's, and he's here seeking company for a grander view of the night sky. Souji agrees at once.
It's when the car wakes up with a yawn that danger trickles into his skin. He asks why Nanako isn't coming; she'd love something like this. Her bedtime, he says. But the clock on the dash glares suspiciously otherwise. The old van feels smaller driving down the street, and sliding down the window only gives the cage bars to ease its once solid walls.
They roll a while in silence, the joyous mood disintegrating with each turn of the tires. Then Souji remembers that his parents can't see the stars. They wouldn't have heard him.
"Where are we going?"
He doesn't get a straight answer the first time, and decides not to try again. It's a long ride. Stargazing slumps to the back of his mind.
Reply
Or, she might have. Souji thinks she wouldn't really, but at the time... Right now, it hardly seems real. Helps that it's dark now, meaning the sun couldn't bake him crunchy. But she had stories for the moonlight too, right? He wonders if asking her today would draw out a few true tales.
That's when his gaze, idle on the road ahead joining a highway, snapshots a particular sign. One he dreamed of, that somehow, is a nightmare in reality. Some dreams aren't meant to come true. This is one of them.
"Uncle..."
"Figure out where we're going?"
Souji can't listen beyond that, mind digging up ways to escape this awful mess. Blank. Bad. Insane. Empty. Nothing viable. All he finds, is that once you're so close to the end--
"15 minute countdown."
--the only way out is in.
He always thought this would be easier. Parked in the complex, he should simply be happy, excited, bounding out there. But right now, his hands are shaking, and he can't even undo the seatbelt. His uncle releases it, tells him to relax, "It's only family." Oh, that makes it worse. So much worse. Next, he's stumbling out the van, being caught by an arm before his face hits the pavement and-- how can this be nerves or elation? Can't he see, he doesn't want this, never wanted this?
If this were truly a desire deep in his heart, would he be running ahead like he is? Telling his uncle to hurry up, he's a slowpoke and wasting precious seconds? Would his palms be on the man's back, shoving with all his might until they're on the right landing? Could the light in his eyes, and smile upon his face be enough to shine the way, even with every other bulb extinguished? Perhaps, just maybe, there could be a small, itsy-bitsy, wish for this.
It won't change the fact he can't have it.
There's no answer. He rings the bell again, lips slipping into a line. He tries his hardest to ignore the panic washing over his brain. "Did you tell them?"
"I had them keep the night open."
Still, no answer. Not that he expected otherwise. "Did you tell them why?" Dojima shakes his head, but it's for the best. They could've said no. Ha, that's too easy. They'd say, ask Souji. Then, it's his decision. His responsibility to resist temptation, and answer correctly. "Call." It's all he can ask without screaming. Or crying.
He stands at the railing, a little ways away while his uncle begins dialing, so as not to hear the voice on the other end, spoil his surprise. His face is hot, too hot for a November night. When did he let go? Say it was alright, give himself the chance to feel glad he might--
"Said they're home."
Souji stares at the oversized door, which hasn't moved. "Are we at the wrong place?"
"Yeah." The answer makes his heart flutter, despite everything. "It's out of the way, but not too far." How sure Dojima is, already down a couple stairs; must not have realized it, but he's the only one moving.
Souji's got his sticky hand attached to the railing, scouring his insides for any glimmer of courage. It's his one chance to back out.
His one chance to jump in.
There's no easy answer-- one's hard to say, but the other impossible to swallow. He'd like more time, just to think it over. But if he doesn't choose now, there won't be a choice.
It's been such a long, long time. And he counts in days, not weeks or months, because every agonizing moment spent away is engraved on his soul.
Reply
But he's not ready to break yet. "I'm not going."
"Why's that?"
It burns his throat to say this, and freezes the blood in his veins to do so looking Dojima in the face. But, he needs to stand this ground. "We're not on the best of terms right now, so--"
"A real reason."
"That is..." Souji stops himself, put off by the man's annoyed sigh.
"Give me a break," he mutters to the ground. There's not a fraction of happiness along his countenance traveling back up the stairs. "A month ago, you were in tears--" Souji flinches. "--you missed them so badly. Five minutes ago, we couldn't get here fast enough. Now, you don't want to go at all?" He stops at the edge of the landing. "Work harder on your jokes, Souji. I'm waiting for the punchline."
His mouth is moving, but he knows nothing intelligent can break free of the knot stuck in his throat. It's a tangle of despair, fear, and indignation. "You...you think I'd--" Because he make friends with the fact that verbal slap came from someone he assumed would never catch on. "...joke about this?"
"Makes more sense, don'tcha think?"
Souji stares. He's furious to a point where his brain just shuts down and lets the rage take control. "It doesn't have to make sense. I don't want to go. So, I'm not. End discussion."
"This discussion ends when I say it ends. You're not the one driving. Now, I suggest you get your act together if you want any say in where we're headed."
He shakes his head and whatever thoughts are in it. "I don't need you. At all."
"Do you even hear yourself? Thinking you're a somebody." He sneers, sizing Souji up. "Know who you really are? A boy. In need of his parents."
"Yeah? What would you know about a child's needs? You can't even care for your own daughter!"
The silence cools him down enough to realize what he said. Dojima massages the back of his neck, gaze lost in the floor. Well... it will be worth it. He can't lose this. Feelings are the smallest thing at stake, here.
Souji walks forward, but his foot can't reach a step before his sleeve gets crumpled by a fist. "I'm not done yet." Fighter. "Let's say I believe your sorry ass excuse."
"It's the truth," he whispers.
The laugh is short, harsh, barely reaches his ear. "Right. I don't doubt it. But there's gotta be more to your little story. That aside. Why not make up with them? Face to face."
"We need more time." More specifically, "I need more time."
"Hasn't it been too long already? I see it on your face. You're scared."
"I'm not scared!" It's an absurd notion. An easy conclusion when no other rational answer presents it self. ...Right?
"Bet you're terrified."
He's not playing this game, not going to let things get any closer. "Think what you want." He turns to leave, and feels his shoulders seized immediately. A rough jerk twists him back around, forces him to confront a stare that holds him stronger than the hands upon him.
"I'll take your word. But you need to justify it. If it's not fear, what is it?"
He has an answer. It's not one he should tell his uncle. Partly because he might take it the wrong way. But he also loves the little secret; it's something they share, just the three of them. He wants to keep it that way, because they haven't been able to share much lately. But that makes him feel exposed underneath this pair of cold, scanning eyes. So he thinks of the first reason, that it's necessary, and shuts his eyes.
"Can't even tell me that?"
The guilt invades, hearing a note of concern in the question. He zips his lips, tries to maintain a neutral expression and ignore the hammering within. Eventually, the grip on his arms loosens and Dojima turns.
"Good to know you'll have it all cleared up by Christmas, then."
Souji's inner celebration ends instantly. "She told you?!" He's over the edge before any defense could catch him.
He dangles every bit from the lack of response. He just stands there until Souji's so desperate he asks again. He's rewarded with a slow nod and Dojima's full attention.
Reply
"What...might that be?" There's a tingling near the base of his skull, offering escape. He doesn't have to hear this. Shouldn't. He could switch now, accept the blindfold, embrace the headphones that sing him to sleep.
"When's the last time you two spoke?"
It's tempting, forgetting whatever trauma implants itself next. "You know." He declines this offer, for once.
"I'm asking. I want to hear it from you."
I want to hear you lie. That's what he means. Again, the tingling. Again, he refuses. It's dangerous, yes. He can almost see the scythe and skeletal face waiting for him. But he can't let his familiar self, however clever and powerful and confident, shield him again. He can't.
So, he takes a deep breath. Answers the question. "Spring. Before I moved here."
"That's what she told me." No surprises.
"But we write letters!" he rushes in, not wanting to give the wrong impression. "...Easier to talk about nice things that way."
"Strange. I heard she hasn't written a single thing. Not this year. Not last year. Never received anything either. Of course, you text all the time. It's the new thing."
"She's lying." Obviously. He has proof, right on his desk. Something lands in the box once a month, or every other week more now. "She's embarrassed."
"I can't believe that. Well, actually I can." He pinches the bridge of his nose, recalling an unpleasant experience, perhaps. "But not with the way she acted. Every opportunity she found, she asked something. 'How is he doing? Did he make any friends? Does he like it there?' You know, the basics. They would come up in any of your conversations."
"Cross checking. A different perspective, because maybe I wasn't telling the truth."
"She said the same thing. It's weird, like a script you rehearsed. Your mother likes to talk Souji. Even if she's mad, I'm sure she'd call, just to let you know how upset she is."
He's right. "It's different, this time." The numbers in his phone are more comfort, not temptation. He learned in the beginning, when he wasn't so committed, how they'll need to be dialed from another line, because the ringing won't stop if it's under his name. He blocked it once, and hearing her pick up had to be the most horrible sound the world could produce. It doesn't matter if he can call them; if they simply don't want to speak to him, why bother? He left voicemails, once upon a time. Even wondered if they checked it, listened all the way through or hung up in between. He lost the guts, or maybe gained the respect, to not do that anymore.
"I'm sure you won't tell me why--" Souji hums, just to confirm. "--I'll skip that part. Now she has to lie about her location? Swears she hasn't been in the country recently. No plans on coming back until next year, even. Why don't you explain that one away?"
It's a challenge Souji can't best. He can't fathom any reason to conceal it. Not when evidence is everywhere else. It doesn't make sense to lie to her son, either. Because what would that do? Excite him? Test him? Crack him? She wouldn't do something like that, unless she had to. So, it must be true.
Reply
"You shouldn't be snooping around in the first place! It's none of your business!" He screams it loud enough to derail his own thoughts. But it doesn't help, and he's left with the wreckage.
"Excuse me?" Insult permeates his features until vexation dominates again. "I called because I wanted to do something nice for you, since you work so hard. Not my fault you're part of a great cover up."
"So, what? Thought you were doing me some sort of favor?" If he weren't so upset, he'd roll with laughter. "Like I needed anyone's permission, let alone yours, to come here? Did you think I wouldn't jump on the first train here? If I'm really as lonely as you say, do you think anything would stop me?"
He takes his time, just watches Souji, wary as one might be of lion caged for years, now hunting for blood-- for the life of whomever seeks to open those impassable steel doors. "No. I didn't think about it at all. But, now that you mention it, which of the almighty forces of nature kept you away?"
And he feels every bit a scorned beast on the brink. "Wouldn't you like to know."
The inquisitor stares, as if waiting for something. Whatever it is, he never gets it. His head rests against his palm. Finally, a sigh brimming with tired frustration materializes in a glacial puff. "Fine. Don't tell me. But I hate to seeing you suffer alone like this. I hope you know I meant it when I said you could come to me about anything, but..." He did, he honestly did, but if he says that now, a hollow sound is all anyone will hear. "Anyway, that wasn't my goal today."
Curiosity's enough to sew Souji's mouth shut.
"When I was talking to your mother, and she couldn't identify any of the letters I read--"
"What. Did you say?" He grinds it out, controlling his breathing with minimal success, and his fear with far less.
"Did I stutter? I read them t--"
"You had no right--"
"She asked me to--"
"You read them to her?"
"Yes, I did. But that shouldn't be a problem, considering she wrote--"
He can't listen anymore, not with the screeching and blistering sores exploding through his reality. "Why? ...Why. Why. Why why whywhywhywhy--"
"Souji?" He smacks away the hand coming to rest on his arm.
"WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY!" He can't focus straight. "Why would you--" The look on her face, must've been... And what she'll assume; the state he must be in, a damage not worth repairing...
And when the voice infiltrating his head cuts through the noise, it spouts mess about, "--thering at Christmas? You're definitely not going. Alone, at least. And anything else from that fraudulent sender will be screened for--"
"No."
"Souji, you don't get a choice, it's--"
"I said. No." He needs to fix this; he can fix this.
"I'm not budging on this one. It's dangerous. Besides, I'm sure your parents don't appreciate being misrep--"
"Don't." They don't get a say. "Finish your sentence, go ahead."
He refuses the dare, but it possibly more for Souji's benefit than his own. "This is hard on you, I know. And I'm sorry. I brought you here hoping for an explanation. But if you think this is all real, when it's not, then it can't continue. I'm stepping in."
"You don't have a right to do this." His voice is so weak it breaks in half.
"I'm your guardian. I won't let anything happen to you."
"But nothing's going to happen."
"You know this for a fact?" Souji struggles to find something positive to wield. "Explain." But it doesn't work. He can't justify anything without saying more than he wants to. Then there's a palm on his shoulder. As if it could soften the verdict. "Listen, Souji..." He can't do as he's told, can't accept this as being over.
Reply
But what can he do? Nothing to bribe with. No feasible threats. No logic to employ. Time has no patience. Maybe he won't do anything. Dojima can read the letters, no he can't, and afterward he'll let Souji. And he can reply, or Dojima can, with careful questions to find out, like always. A monitored exchange, staged and invaded by persons not meant to see. Or, they'll arrive and Souji won't touch a thing because it's the wrong impression of Mom and Dad.
He wouldn't survive either.
But what could stop it, unless... No. Out of the question, never an option, nothing to consider. Except that he might be able to live with this. Maybe. If he plays the right cards, and scratches this whole ordeal off as a drug induced hallucination. Yeah. Right. It's the end of the road. He can't turn back. Can't go in reverse. At least with this, the funeral may be more white.
So, he tugs his uncle's sleeve, ready to walk with death. He speaks at a volume that barely carries over the buzzing of his tender nerves. "I know how it is." No answer. He repeats it, clearer this time. "The sender...I know who--"
"I heard you." Souji waits, because Dojima must need a moment. "Let me get this straight. When I asked you the first hundred times if you knew the letters were fake--" drinking that word is is a bit like poison. "--You swore your parents were lying. All of sudden, they're telling the truth, and you know who's been writing them?" He nods, saving his breath for the question coming up. But even with a grasp on the situation, his uncle does nothing more than eye him, with disgust the only readable emotion. "Tch. I'm glad for you. Now, do me a favor, and keep it to yourself. Don't think I could believe anything that comes out of your mouth."
The fabric slips past his fingers. He stands by himself on the landing while the strong figure moves farther away. Away from him. Because who wants to associate with a liar?
He has the decency not to plead. How could he? When he's already been given so many chances. Didn't he want this? To tend his own devices. No curious onlookers, scrutinizers, or helping hands. This is not the fate he meant to raise, but it is the one he earned. Stranded, right where he belongs in the lake of his small world. Stuck on his proud rock of lies to fall against a tide he knows is coming. Hiding from the lighthouse means he'll have no way back. It should be best, he's gone so far to protect anonymity. But he cracked at the last moment. At this point, it doesn't matter if he never tells Dojima. If he returns tonight and opens an envelope, he won't finish the page pretending it's from her.
And it wrenches his heart, knowing that's not the problem.
Brittle as his soul may be, he steeled himself to take that back with him. But no degree of warning could brace him for the sight of watching someone leave with such intent that he can count the miles adding up with each step down. Given the option, he'd trade all the letters cluttering his desk to not play witness now. Because how many letters will he have to write to himself again, next year? And how many to be signed, Uncle Ryo?
Reply
Dojima pauses, feet planted on the third landing. "Why should I believe you?"
Souji almost trips on his way down, excited to receive even the slightest of surrendered seconds, and halted at the hangman's simple speech. He doesn't risk a step without answer, afraid time will fall from what feels like gracious suspension.
His chest tightens and twists, knowing his first reason is a sugarcoated tale. He forsakes it, settles an unguarded reply. "This isn't a bargain. You're going to read them, even if I tell you, right?" He chances a tiny step towards his uncle, who nods in reply. Mentally, it aches that he hoped against that punishment, even given standing situation. "Then, this is just me, confessing to you." His listener remains silent, and Souji continues forward, both by stair and story. "We don't text, we don't talk. There's been nothing at all, since Spring.
"I knew the letters weren't...." He fights the tears. He's a big boy now. "...from them." He said it. That's one step he hopes is forward. "I wanted... I needed something to keep the distance away. Like anything could..." He laughs at himself. "...But I needed someone. Someone who would do this. For me." Thinking of this someone pulls a brief smile and pushes him to cross the landings with greater strength. "Not an easy find. They had to know enough about my parents, to give me something I could believe. Patience. To put in endless hours, all to change their hand to something I might recognize as familiar. The dedication to keep this going long term. Someone who wouldn't question my desire, or force me to fix things, or...make fun of it.
"And I needed to trust them. I'd be sharing my secrets with whoever it was, after all. I didn't know anyone at the time, so I really had no options." Slowly, he sets down a foot on his uncle's landing. "But I knew it could be pulled off, with the right method." What little control remains he focuses on breathing, and persuades himself to look up at Dojima. It's not easy, to let himself be pierced by that impassive gaze. All he can think is please believe me. "I found out that if they're done ahead of time, I won't remember. Then there's a certain time, in between dreams, where you can't recall anything that might happen. So, I used those two things, and took in everything else, and I..." The railing's not enough. He transfers his hand to a buttoned up shirt, lays his head against it too, and that way he doesn't have to look. "I wrote one letter. Then the next. Another after that. And they never wrote back, so I did it for them." He shuts his eyes when the burning is too much. He says it, quieter, "I wrote them. All of them." It's chopped by hiccups. He can't help the hot tears racing down his face, or stop the sobs from choking his windpipe. He stops trying to restrain them when he recognizes his lips are pulled into a smile. It might be harder to breathe, but the air he does manage to swallow replenishes all the needs he neglected for so long. He feels lighter, and his limbs relax like an athlete that tried sprinting a marathon. It does still hurt, the arms holding him tight remind him of that, and it's sharp like needles. But it's small, minuscule, weak, compared to the overwhelming happiness splashing over him.
He never pictured it feeling this way, so good. All he ever could imagine was sinking into a dark pit, agonizing as quicksand, the moment he opened his mouth. Like running from a shadow, when it was the sun all along.
He told himself not to cry. But he needs an outlet, or he might die from joy. So, he decides not to keep track, lets go of the score, and holds tight to what really matters.
-
Souji spots the friendly note from the top of the stairs. A line of sticky tape secures it to the door at a height Nanako couldn't reach. One solid line: I didn't read it.
Reply
He feels locked inside, squaring off against a box, but what is he to do? The gift does nothing to entice him, its unique flavor soured just nights before. It sits, lonely because his hands don't ravish its blind surface. He doesn't have the nerve to touch it. Nor does he want to lay hands on it for any kind action. Souji wonders if his mother felt this way, staring at him, something she crafted and sickened by the fact. A truth they can't deny; something so pathetic came from her. A crime he's now given birth to himself. And still, repulsive as it is, both need that injustice to survive, like water for their bodies.
He fools with the idea of falling asleep and waking with an oblivious memory. It summons the past, a day he remembers fondly. After finally having written a letter in straight mentality, the world granted him a small miracle. He slipped into blissful dreams, sealed letter clasped within tiny hands. Dawn prickled his eyes open, and the dim light glistened on the treasure found atop his belly. His desolate face morphed into one of scary excitement as he tore into the devilish sweet destined to end his starvation. Her honey glazed tone bewitched him into believing winter ended, and summer came to visit. The spell broke once he tried to answer a blank address. He longed to bury himself-- partially crushed by sadness, more ashamed he harbored such deceitful hope. Only deserving boys received fairytale endings, silly. But the trickery inspired a manipulative method he would later use.
He abandons that tactic in a gutter, now. Admitting it aloud condemned him to this destination. Once awake, it's impossible to embrace the same dream.
The voices reverberating within scare Souji from time to time. They do so now, as he hears the all too simple words, it's okay. His response emerges as another language, one of pure emotion, and it frightens him, possibly more. Because he knows, he understands what's been said, even if a piece of him doesn't desire the power, the responsibility, it entails.
But he agrees, regardless, unable to stop it-- It is okay.
It's okay.
Perhaps, better than okay. Because truth isn't free. It comes at the price of fiction. He consented while watching every thread turn to ash, it was a fortune worth spending.
He can handle opening it himself. All he needs is a little help, someone to hold his hand. It's not outrageous to ask, and vastly better than hiding and watching. A similar set of hands ghosts over his own sitting atop the cardboard. It's the security he wished for, a steady presence to catch him if he falls.
He pries apart the package; inside is a series of warm weather guards, all chic and high end brand. He must have picked these up on one of the nights he came back with a dress. He doesn't remember them, but that was the point. One by one, they pool on his lap-- scarf, earmuffs, gloves. Perfect timing. He'll wear them tomorrow. At the bottom is a letter, every curve of the pen a replica to hers.
He picks up the paper, and finds it shaking like on a bus ride through unpaved territory. So he uses the table as his music stand, and crumples his fists beside each knee.
Reply
It's happened again. We heard a suspicious noise before leaving for work today. Turns out it was just a cat. Then your father disappeared during lunch and never returned. I thought he got pulled to work on another project, but when I got home, guess where he was? Sitting outside playing with the cat brigade. I finally dragged him in, but he hasn't stopped sneezing. What should we do with him? I vote auctioning.
Ah. Right. He's fairly certain his father isn't allergic to cats, but it's a nicer reason than the one he was given for leaving behind Cat Burger. If this were to be her way to make amends, Souji would feel open to apologizing too.
How do you like the presents? When I found these in the window, I envisioned you wearing them much better than the mannequin. I hope you didn't already buy something yourself. Then again, it wouldn't matter, would it? These can be your favorite! Your father's sending a coat soon, so be on the lookout for that! I can't be there to keep you warm personally, but maybe these'll do the trick?
Speaking of, it's gotten so cold around here! Seems like I'm not used to the weather changes in my own home anymore. No one in the office can agree on a stable temperature, so I take my breaks at the coffee shop a little ways down. They have a delicious strawberry cake (which can be drizzled with chocolate if you know who to talk to!), but...it's one of the few things that still taste sweet, so I try not to eat it often. Don't wanna grow immune to that too. Everything else is the same, alternating between bland and bitter. I've been everywhere: five stars to no stars, and even our classics. Your father says they're divine, so I guess it's just me. I wish this condition were new, but it's been so long I can't remember how some signature dishes tasted in the first place. Even the smell and texture deny me pleasure-- the lot's got a putrid odor and slimy skin. I could eat the same thing day after day for all the difference it makes. This... She's suffering. Like he is, because they're separated. Why else would he want her to write a sad experience? Of course, that wouldn't be healthy. Thankfully, I haven't had any dreams where lobsters disembark from a plate to chew my face off (or chase me down never-ending flights of stairs). Magic words, successfully restoring cheer.
Oh yes, and Souji, thanks for the box. I haven't done extensive testing with it, but so far the nightmares are less frequent. I wonder why it works. Could it be that its intended purpose is effective, or is it the gift aspect? There's a theory circling my head, but it's probably better if I don't say. Plus, I have your CD. It doesn't do a thing for dreams, but I wouldn't have any of those if I couldn't get to sleep, right? I play it at night when hundreds of problems gallivant through the fields in my head. The songs are beautiful, so I always think of you. Much better than any teddy bear. The best lullaby I've ever drifted off to ♥
His hands unfurl at that, because he didn't expect her to listen. What are the odds, that he would get a positive reply to a matter so coincidental? He's never recorded anything before, so to predict that he would so far in advance... Maybe he knows himself better than a book.
Our little star... Yep, sounds right. I'm surprised you like that name...it's so vain! Guess you do take after me! The sound of her laughter, bold and bright, lends itself to the cause. Now, toss this in your noggin: you're asking about a difference which doesn't exist. Stars on TV, stars in the sky, are all the same. Why do you think they share the name? You wish upon the lights at night, and shove those same dreams on whatever famous dove you find. Stars always burn out too. That's why you should watch your hours, before they slip into weeks and years you can't remember spending anywhere. There were dark, discouraged times where he didn't exactly try his hardest. Is this a reminder of that?
Reply
My life _____ | _____ Your life.
Understand? It gives me chills when you put your foot down. I can't promise you'll always get your way, but show that moxie! Just what he wanted her to say. Maybe what she's been trying to say too. If he pages through a mental photo album and compares instances of her utmost satisfaction and disappointment, are they really so disjointed? Could she have grinned if he didn't throw in the towel so often? Would she have ignored him and gone about her day if he hadn't found a loophole in her plan? He'll find out, if given another chance.
I trust you to make good decisions. Of course, being human we can't always do that, which is my undercover reason for probing. I wanted to see if you could still depend on me. At times, you'll get in over your head, but don't be too resentful or scared to talk to me. Alright? I know it's more like you to choose your father. I'm a bit of a wicked witch, aren't I? It's fine. Just don't keep your fears bottled up. He has no recollection of ever feeling bitter enough to shun either of them throughout this process. Perhaps another student supplied the concern. It's not too farfetched from a subject that might wind her up. I worry about you... Even though I shouldn't. My little brother's taking good care of you.
He tattled so much when we were kids! Couldn't keep a single secret. Makes sense he'd turn into a cop. I just know he'd arrest me if he found out certain things. There was one time I stayed out five minutes past curfew when Mom and Dad were out. 5 minutes!!! And I got grounded for a week because he couldn't keep his mouth shut. Never-mind that he should've been in bed himself. "She woke me up coming in late." Please. He stayed up all night with his video games He laughs, but every trace of it is erased by the letter's end.
That was a harmless occasion, but not all of them followed that rule. He never caught me on the worst days, and I got away with a few suspect activities.
Have you ever wanted to be forgiven so badly it drove you crazy? You'd confess, or beg, even bargain? Anything to help, despite the senseless stupidity? Every now and then, I get those urges. Then I remember it never works for me. It's the punishment I seek. Which would you prefer, Souji? To move on, anyway.
Love,
Mom
He might have desired reassurance at her guilt, but what possessed him to drum up a question with such a glaring answer?
-
He's going to write them. How could he not? He'll do so until there's nothing left to say.
Dear Mom & Dad,
I saw Mr. Hoppity in the lawn yesterday. He stuck around to play a bit, but I think he misses Nanako. I gave her a picture incase he doesn't come out until Spring again. I'm trying to make her stay a little brighter, especially when they lock us out. My friends and I are making pinwheels to hang from the ceiling, and ribbons for her bed. She'll find a rainbow anywhere she looks ♪ We also carrying out operation: Distract Dojima. He has too long to sit and think. I lent him a pack of cards to practice tricks with, and assigned him homework so he can't slack off. So far, he's flunking: D-! The nurses giggle every time he messes up. He needs to shape up!
Your gifts are perfect, Mom! They're so cozy ♥ Thank you! It's getting chillier by the hour. Countdown to winter! Hope it snows soon.
I'm so glad you liked the CD! I didn't want to ask, because you might've needed more time with it, but the nerves were chewing away at me! I'm happy you sleep better at night, too. That's all I really wanted. ...Being the cause is going to keep me up all night grinning.
Reply
I'm trying to earn forgiveness right now. I couldn't live with the punishment alone. I think a little of both is best to move on with. I don't know what you did, but if you're sorry, you've taken one step forward already. I hate seeing you so hard on yourself. Please? Even if you have regrets, aren't there some things you always want to remember?
You're going to worry me. Get your thoughts out of the dark, Mom. If it's too much for me to handle alone, I'll tell you. Nothing's going to change that.
And don't try to scare me. I proudly accept my role as your little star. Stand by watching. One day, you'll be amazed. When that happens, he hopes she'll crown him with the title again.
Love,
Souji
He squeezes it into an envelope. Stamps it. When the bottom drawer pops open, he's surprised to find the mailbox missing. Instances of a few weeks past skitters through his mind, reminding him that he threw it into the TV. He frowns, but it's not a problem. He'll just put this one somewhere safe and private, like the last one.
Where did he put the last one?
The mailbox, his brain supplies. The residential mailbox.
Alright, so he'll...just...
What.
He did, he remembers. But why? What infected his sense of reason. Not that it matters. It should have been returned to him. Because the address doesn't exist. It never does.
Except this once, because a caring uncle pulled up to the flat and his nephew knocked on the door and why wasn't it returned? Souji remembers his parents getting bills that weren't theirs when they moved to a new place. They never kept them. Is this not the same? Maybe the apartment is vacant, and no one could return the mail. Yes.
He stretches and maybe pulls a heartstring, because it's a bit of a dreadful snap when it occurs once again that he doesn't have his personal mailbox. He won't get another letter from them unless he writes it himself-- in the exposing light. And he just can't handle that right now. It's easier to not receive a response at all.
At least he deserves a pat on the back for concocting the best batch of letters yet. How strange would it be for Mom to mention Dojima-san if he stayed at another boarding school? Then again, it's another brand of strange for them to answer his questions on cue, enjoyable as it was. Must be the magic of subconscious. And then to change addresses so he could receive their letters faster was probably his most clever idea. But his favorite experience was receiving gifts. The flowers were beautiful.
Otherworldly beautiful.
And so fresh.
It should have been impossible to arrange the delivery of fresh flowers a year in advance to a house in a city he might not have stayed at.
The second hand on his clock steadily revolves from twelve to eleven.
Souji decides that sometimes if it should be impossible...
it is impossible.
Very unexpected hiatus. Hoping it won't happen again. Thanks to anyone still sticking with this!
Reply
Reply
Reply
archiveofourown[dot]org/works/956188/chapters/1871397
I'd like to pick this up again soon. The remaining chapters will be hosted on ao3, but I'll link to them here as well.
Reply
Leave a comment