struggling along to the edge of the world
WHO: Silent X'ers
WHERE: The MAC
WHEN: During the fall back on 11/6 (Sunday)
WARNINGS: crying?
WHAT: Two weeks removed from everything he's ever known, homesickness hits a breaking point.
WORDS: yes
Heartland was many things, to Yuma: bright and colorful, full of sunlight and clear water, lively trees, clean. A boring place where he made his own adventures, bringing all his zeal to every day and every challenge, no matter what mockery or derision he faced. Heartland was where even the trash-collecting O-bots called him garbage. His marks in school were terrible, he always fell flat on his face in gym, and some classmates would act snide to his bringing it to 'em. Where his sister picked on him and forced him to do totally dangerous things for a story, his grandmother made him climb into the mountains and battle monkeys on dumb errands, and his friends were always getting mad at him for making them late to class or whatever. He missed every last inch of it.
He'd never been away from home this long, all by himself. Either his parents were there, or his sister and his grandma, or Kotori and the others... Yuma'd never lived independently of them. Things like budgeting, buying groceries, cooking his own dinner, doing his own laundry, getting his own clothes... those weren't things he'd had to do. Every responsibility was new, but the adventure didn't spark the same fire in his heart it would have for his parents. Maybe he'd crossed from the boring world into the one full of romance and adventure -- for what could be more adventurous than giant demons and its lesser spawn seeking to destroy this world?! -- but to Yuma, it seemed somehow hollow. It was almost like his Key had been broken all over again.
But Yuma wasn't someone who wanted to let things like that get to him, let a little homesickness trump his spirit. He'd gone after everything with the same bring-it-to-'em spirit he always did. From getting a rice cooker to racing his shopping cart down the canned goods aisle to kicking octopus-monsters in the face, Yuma refused to let go of that goal. He wanted, more than anything, to be someone his parents would be proud of, and they were adventurers! If his dad could spend his life searching for the edge of the world, why was Yuma letting something as simple as not showing off to Kotori or dueling Tetsuo get him down? The moment he gave up, it'd be like dying.
Sleep, and with it dreams, did not care so much about resolutions of the waking world. Yuma slept and dreamed of Heartland, the same as every night. In it, he attempted the twenty vaulting boxes that looked suspiciously like Obomi, but landed in the middle of the shopping mall, Tokunosuke's arm wrapped around his own. Kotori and Tetsuo were there too, and Cathy who popped up everywhere, and even the Class Rep, distorting memory with their presence. He knew he was wearing his D-Gazer; his vision was perfect and unimpeded. If he went home, his parents would be playing board games in the front room, and Akari would be in her office, refusing to give him allowance money. Grandma and Obomi would be in matching kimonos, like they always were.
Shark's voice came through on the ear piece. The AR window should have shown his face, but it was that boy Haruto, who was also a gate, that spoke.
"Only when you lose your precious something... do you realize its true worth!"
A few minutes of darkness; a quiet roll from sleep to lucidity. Yuma opened his eyes to a pale, blue-tinted darkness. He was wearing a hooded sweat shirt and yoga pants, and the wrist cuffs had imprinted trenches all around his arm. The sheet was tangled around his feet, one edge caught between two small toes, and the blanket was doing a better job of keeping the unused pillow warm than his body. He wasn't in a hammock. The moonlight came in from the wrong wall. His exhale was quiet, laced with the pain of an unexpected bruise. He was in the City, not Heartland; no Akari downstairs working towards a deadline, no Grandma waking up before the dawn, no school to go to, no Mister Ukyo or Cathy or Tetsuo or Shark or Kotori to say "Forget 'good morning!'" His fingers curled into blanket and the sheet covering the bed itself, and his shoulders shook, spasmed. He did not smother his tears intentionally, and did not swallow his voice-- he cried like a man stabbed, bleeding and regretting a life unfulfilled, or like a fearful child trapped in a dark room.
WHERE: The MAC
WHEN: During the fall back on 11/6 (Sunday)
WARNINGS: crying?
WHAT: Two weeks removed from everything he's ever known, homesickness hits a breaking point.
WORDS: yes
Heartland was many things, to Yuma: bright and colorful, full of sunlight and clear water, lively trees, clean. A boring place where he made his own adventures, bringing all his zeal to every day and every challenge, no matter what mockery or derision he faced. Heartland was where even the trash-collecting O-bots called him garbage. His marks in school were terrible, he always fell flat on his face in gym, and some classmates would act snide to his bringing it to 'em. Where his sister picked on him and forced him to do totally dangerous things for a story, his grandmother made him climb into the mountains and battle monkeys on dumb errands, and his friends were always getting mad at him for making them late to class or whatever. He missed every last inch of it.
He'd never been away from home this long, all by himself. Either his parents were there, or his sister and his grandma, or Kotori and the others... Yuma'd never lived independently of them. Things like budgeting, buying groceries, cooking his own dinner, doing his own laundry, getting his own clothes... those weren't things he'd had to do. Every responsibility was new, but the adventure didn't spark the same fire in his heart it would have for his parents. Maybe he'd crossed from the boring world into the one full of romance and adventure -- for what could be more adventurous than giant demons and its lesser spawn seeking to destroy this world?! -- but to Yuma, it seemed somehow hollow. It was almost like his Key had been broken all over again.
But Yuma wasn't someone who wanted to let things like that get to him, let a little homesickness trump his spirit. He'd gone after everything with the same bring-it-to-'em spirit he always did. From getting a rice cooker to racing his shopping cart down the canned goods aisle to kicking octopus-monsters in the face, Yuma refused to let go of that goal. He wanted, more than anything, to be someone his parents would be proud of, and they were adventurers! If his dad could spend his life searching for the edge of the world, why was Yuma letting something as simple as not showing off to Kotori or dueling Tetsuo get him down? The moment he gave up, it'd be like dying.
Sleep, and with it dreams, did not care so much about resolutions of the waking world. Yuma slept and dreamed of Heartland, the same as every night. In it, he attempted the twenty vaulting boxes that looked suspiciously like Obomi, but landed in the middle of the shopping mall, Tokunosuke's arm wrapped around his own. Kotori and Tetsuo were there too, and Cathy who popped up everywhere, and even the Class Rep, distorting memory with their presence. He knew he was wearing his D-Gazer; his vision was perfect and unimpeded. If he went home, his parents would be playing board games in the front room, and Akari would be in her office, refusing to give him allowance money. Grandma and Obomi would be in matching kimonos, like they always were.
Shark's voice came through on the ear piece. The AR window should have shown his face, but it was that boy Haruto, who was also a gate, that spoke.
"Only when you lose your precious something... do you realize its true worth!"
A few minutes of darkness; a quiet roll from sleep to lucidity. Yuma opened his eyes to a pale, blue-tinted darkness. He was wearing a hooded sweat shirt and yoga pants, and the wrist cuffs had imprinted trenches all around his arm. The sheet was tangled around his feet, one edge caught between two small toes, and the blanket was doing a better job of keeping the unused pillow warm than his body. He wasn't in a hammock. The moonlight came in from the wrong wall. His exhale was quiet, laced with the pain of an unexpected bruise. He was in the City, not Heartland; no Akari downstairs working towards a deadline, no Grandma waking up before the dawn, no school to go to, no Mister Ukyo or Cathy or Tetsuo or Shark or Kotori to say "Forget 'good morning!'" His fingers curled into blanket and the sheet covering the bed itself, and his shoulders shook, spasmed. He did not smother his tears intentionally, and did not swallow his voice-- he cried like a man stabbed, bleeding and regretting a life unfulfilled, or like a fearful child trapped in a dark room.