Part the Second
Characters: Varon (aussie_biker) and Yami (idonthaveityet)
Rating: PG-13 for language and mad ninja skillz D8
Summary: Yami gives out an invitation, Varon decides to break his face, pills are running short, and Ushio pops up for a cameo and some Yuugi-backstory because we ♥ ♥ ♥ him so. Set about a week before Yami held his funeral. First part here.
Varon’s stomach clutched a little, but he swallowed and accepted the card, glancing briefly at the burnt image on the front. He couldn’t make it out, but he could try later. He opened it, being careful in case it fell apart in his hands and he never got to read the message.
It was scribbled, handwriting small and somewhat difficult to read, but he could screw his eyes up and piece it together through the scribbled lines. Addressed it to ‘Kitten’ first, scratched out, but nowhere near enough to obliterate it or match up to the other scribbles.
He gave a soft snort, reading on. Some kanji still visible, but not enough to pick up on easily - he could always go over it again later and see what he could pick out. ‘Take care of yourself. I hope the Dark Side isn’t too lonely. - another scratched out section - Happy Birthday in advance and good luck with…everything. - more scratched out, thick, black and completely unreadable now, which he reckoned was a pity, if Yami had put this much effort into getting rid of it - Good-bye.’
He paused, skimmed it again. There was an odd feeling to seeing Good-bye on the card, because Varon had always seen Good-bye as forever. It was like the overly dramatic, corny knight atop a pure white steed crying, "Farewell, my love!" over his shoulder to some dozy princess who waved a handkerchief at the retreating tin can, crying her little heart out. It meant that the knight was going away, and he wasn’t coming back, and wasn’t that what Yami meant? They were no knight and princess but more of a two-member gang, one of them going off for the final bullet to the head.
The feeling was quite sickening, and Varon swallowed, turning it over in his head. His birthday wasn’t until August, and that left them a good few months between now and then. Which meant a while. But good-bye still meant forever, and forevers meant a while.
He tapped the card with his knuckle - gently - and took a breath.
"All right. I won’t even pretend to grasp why or whatever, but…" he faltered, trying to figure out what he did understand, figure out why or how he was going to accept losing a friend to the Big Bad World, "Are you coming back?"
Because maybe good-bye wasn’t as infinite as forever, and so good-bye might not be forever, and Yami might come back. He was starting to sound to himself like a lost kid, but there you go. After all, most of the corny romances with good-byes were mostly bullshit and propaganda to feed soppy, soft hearted idiots who believe that heroes never die as long as they have love to get them by. In real world terms, people and life were both a lot more complicated than that.
Complicated enough that there really wasn't much of an answer Yami could give. To say there was a possibility, a chance, that was like naming a star. Trying to put an authoritative answer down to something you had no control over, could never reach or touch or even confirm the existence of, when the sky was so vast you'd be lucky even to find the same star again just to repeat its name.
There was no way to say, and no reason to believe he'd ever come back. And plenty of evidence to suggest that once he burned the bridge he was cut off permanently. And no matter how many stories ended with the hero leaping into the water and swimming back once the bridge had sunk, things not being too late after all, a dull weight had settled in his stomach weeks ago, confidence in the fact that there was no hope for reversal.
There was only one way left to go, and Yami had to take it and not look back. And the hows and whys and whatwillIdos of it didn't matter half so much as the fact that he had to go, had to leave, had to get out while there was still some hope left of salvaging himself. That was the thing that he put was faith he could scrap together in, and that would be what he saw through to the end.
...All the same - a calm "No" wouldn't come out. And Yami had never been particularly tactile even before the doctor, Yuugi (so close to him when they were small and still matched that they might have been two halves of the same person in the end) being the one exception, but. Yami had only said a difficult good-bye to three people in his life. His parents, which was no good-bye at all, and Yuugi; the latter was with all sorts of clinging and hugging and embarrassedly half-peeling Yuugi off and half-not-quite-being-able-to-let-go.
Saying good-bye tonelessly and walking away with nothing else, when it was a forever sort of good-bye, seemed...wrong.
Yami should've rehearsed this. Would've made it simpler if he'd worked in individual terms instead of absolutes. But if he had, he might not have been able to go in the first place. Voice came out small either way, "I don't" know "think so."
Varon nodded, swallowing again and flipping the card shut, holding it in both hands and flapping it on his knees. He needed an appropriate response to that. And an appropriate response was not ‘Why the hell not?‘ or ‘But you have to come back‘ because of course he didn’t have to. He could up and leave if he wanted, and he was upping and leaving. That wasn’t something Varon could stop; it was Yami’s own choice and Varon didn’t have the authority to stop.
It was like keeping an animal in a cage anyway. Couldn‘t trap it there when it wanted out. And he could make a few well educated guesses as to why Yami wanted out of here, and he couldn’t blame him for that. The rumours were a start. Whatever happened with Marik was another. Whatever the hell else had happened too. It was selfish expecting Yami to stay here, after all, and he severely doubted Yami would fall to his wants if he ever even expressed them.
But. "I see." Sort of. "What about your brother?" Because Yami wouldn’t just leave his brother, would he? That didn’t seem like something Yami would do. Didn’t image Yami’s brother would appreciate Yami leaving, either.
Yuugi.
Yami swallowed hard. It was just the blood, of course; no other reason. None at all. Really. Because he'd gone through this, gone over it, listed off all the reasons it was going to be all right and he'd manage to do it. But the bit that screamed that he couldn't and it wouldn't refused to die entirely.
"He'll be all right." And Yami's throat hurt now, but he ignored it. Yuugi would be fine. Yuugi had always been fine, and Yuugi had proved he could take care of himself. After a certain point, right, the protector was no longer needed? Maybe never had been. And that meant that chapter of the story was over, and it was time to move on, and the ward could have a separate life, and everyone would be better off, wouldn't they?
Of course. There wasn't any question. But. All the same.
They'd been together since before they were born and why if he'd been so calm reasoning it out was he questioning himself and thisclose to choking on it just because Varon actually came out and said it?
Yami didn't realize he'd touched Varon - hand on his shoulder, instinctive gesture to communicate how important this was and to make sure Varon was listening - until after he'd moved. "I want you to look after him for me. Can you do that?" Not will; that he didn't need to ask about.
Varon blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Yami gripping his shoulder, leaning closer and talking and yes, Varon could do that. Will do it. He’d seen Yami’s brother, and the guy was incredibly short. He imagined he’d have had fun in school. He nodded, first, "Yeah, ‘course I can. He should be easy to keep an eye on, what with the hair and all."
He wanted to try and lighten the situation, because he preferred laughing and smiling over tense and sombre.
"Just one thing for you to do. Keep me updated. Make a post on Live Journal or something, so I know you’re alive and you haven’t been crucified or anything. And update regularly too. I’m good at worrying, but that’s never been a plus point."
And worry he would, if Yami was going off on his own. He had no doubt Yami was capable of handling himself - he’d have the bruise to prove it, probably - but there was obviously someone stronger than Yami in the world, and it would be just Yami’s luck to encounter one of those.
Yami had to remember to breathe again so that he could say "Thank you." Good. Good, very good. Safe, then. Yuugi was safe, and Yuugi would be all right; he trusted Varon to make sure of that. Even if Varon might not have a clue, he'd still be there, and Varon being there was all that really mattered. Just so long as Yuugi would have someone to look after him.
Even if half of what Yami used to convince himself that Yuugi would be all right if he left was the argument that Yuugi no longer needed an older brother to watch his every step and make sure he never had to fall far.
Good. Then. That was everything, wasn't it? He'd already packed all his things up neatly, tucked away his valuables with Yuugi. Valuables really only included a deck and the puzzle his father passed on to him, but Yuugi loved Duel Monsters more than Yami anyway, could use the cards and something to remember him by, and the puzzle was meant to go to Yuugi if anything happened to Yami, anyway, so that...that was really all that particularly mattered.
Everything else was set. He didn't really need to give out invitations, anyway. He could scratch that, and let all the good-byes be finished with right here. It'd make it just the one that he'd said, then, but -- he could live with that. Made it simpler, and then it would all be over with, and he wouldn't have to worry about it. He'd always liked it better to accept that you'd have to leave, and say all your good-byes ahead of time, so that when it came down to it, you could go just like that. No conflict, just acceptance.
Because that was the best way to leave, of course. Everything done up neatly, the story at its end, no choice about going, just the movement forward and that was all. No backward glances, and nothing to look back for. He wasn't sure he could do it, but regardless, it all started (and ended) here. He could do that. Say good-bye now, get any scrap of hesitance dealt with, ride out the rest of the week as painlessly as possible -- the step through the door with no hesitation and the confidence of knowing exactly where you're going -- and exactly why you can never come back.
It was almost like the suicide everyone was so convinced he was planning to commit: all you had to do was gut it out until the day of, then just do it. Nothing more to it.
Varon could be all of his good-byes. It wouldn't matter.
And after this, everything would be easier. So it wasn't lack of progress that "Good-bye" came out too quietly and what was supposed to be casual and detached didn't work quiet the way he planned, and he hated being touched, hated the power it implied and the way it felt and the way it tasted and the residue left on his skin even where people simply looked and all of this he hated, and so all of this he was going to leave, and it was just as simple as that and it'd all be over, except that
He wound up sort of half-hugging, half-clinging. The way you seek shelter, hide your face against someone's shoulder when the world is too much and has hurt you too much and you don't want to go out there again and you don't want to face it alone. Because he was leaving, of course, and he could do this, and he didn't need anyone else's support. Didn't.
But Varon was still there, and warm, and solid, and steady, and and well, maybe contrast helped, because if you could feel how it was, even for a few seconds, to have someone else to hold you up when the weight of it all was so much too much, then -- maybe when you let go and had to recognize that there was no one there to hold you up but yourself, you'd know what you were aiming for. You'd know what it was you needed so desperately to find.
There was that stupid word, "Goodbye," and then Yami was holding onto him, face against his shoulder, and that was unexpected. A far cry from punches or hitting the floor with a boot to the throat. It took a few seconds for Varon to fully process having someone latching onto him - more so when that person was Yami. And his head was still pulsing in that annoying attend-to-me fashion.
It wasn't the same kind of guy-hug Varon was used to. More of the over-exaggerated slapping on back and - with Varon always being the smallest - him being lifted off his feet in a massive bear hug. He had had bruises for weeks after he left for Japan, and coming back was more of the hooking-arm-around-neck and trying to wrestle free to breathe in the Australian air.
Still. Yami wasn't the same kind of person the friends Varon had back home were. He guessed it would take parental death to have one of the guys from back home clinging to his shoulders like this. But Yami was definitely different, and Yami had had entirely different experiences from anyone back home. Whatever they were, since Varon still only knew the bare bones of what had happened.
But this was the "Goodbye" hug, right? Varon swallowed the lump in his throat - damn, Yami hit hard - and twisted his left arm, winding it around Yami’s lower back, and stretching his right around Yami’s shoulders, gripping the furthest one. And, fuck, Yami was tiny. He momentarily refused to believe he’d been decked by him, but … damn. And suddenly he felt a wave of guilt for hitting someone so small in the first place.
It seemed like the time for stupid sentiments, and movies rolled around in his head one by one, but they were all bullshit. He sighed, "Yeah. Goodbye."
He wanted to tack on an, I guess, or, for now, or, just shorten it to ‘bye, getting rid of the finality and the stupid ‘I’ll never see you again’ factor. Even leaving for Japan, he had never said goodbye, and no one had said it to him. That was because he’d come back, for holidays and maybe after he’d finished his education. He’d gone to another country and still no one said goodbye, but was Yami even planning to leave Japan? He might have tightened his grip, but he didn’t think he did, and hoped he didn’t, because the illusion was of a china doll that might shatter any second, not a human being.
...Yeah, he might've, and he did.
But appearances aside, Yami wasn't going to break. Not from being held too tight, and not from any of this. None of what had happened was big enough to destroy him (and he could never let it, no matter how it felt) and this here, this now, this wasn't the way the doctor touched him, and he could tell that by the way that this didn't hurt, so he trusted it not to crumble him either.
Besides, he'd always been this small, really. Just this delicate, just this light. the stratling part shouldn't have been how little he was, but how easily it was hidden, how simple it was for sheer force of personality to overshadow a tiny frame. Enough presence, bearing, self-confidence -- that made up for a lot. Or it had before. Before, he'd awlays created enough of an impression, with looks and intensity and arrogance and whatever point he was driving home, that he didn't seem so fragile.
A bare 5'3" at best, but he'd always been able to cover for that. Before. Now, though...amazing how much less five feet-three inches seemed with your face ground into the dirt. Somewhere along the line, and he knew the hour it had happened by heart, leather and collars and confidence all at sharp angles gave way to a borrowed sweatshirt that threatened to drown him and blank expressions and words that wouldn't quite come out.
And he could leave that behind. He held tighter to Varon than he meant to, than he wanted to, but he could leave it behind. It was all just a question of determination. Yes. He pulled away from Varon, stood up, breathed. Straightened everything out in his head. He could leave this all behind. It was all just a question of doing. And he had to keep repeating that to himself or he'd stop believing it was the only solution.
Yes. Moment past, and that sort of clinging was the last he'd do from here on out. He could do this, and he could do this alone. And he had to. That was the only way for it. Alone and far enough away that none of this was real.
He sucked in a slow breath, tried to find some piece of the person he'd been before he started to seem so frail. There. Confident if weak smile. "I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me, anyway."
Yami started to move, so Varon let go, watching Yami stand up again. Varon settled his elbows on his knees, and that weight in his stomach seemed heavier than before. The "Goodbye"s has been said and the hug was now over, and - reassurance that Yami would be back.
Standing in the airport, aged eighteen and waving off to friends and family, he’d called, "Don’t miss me too much!", causing his mother to burst into tears and him to cringe. His father had petted his mother’s shoulder and nodded Varon on, but it didn’t stop the guilt eating at his insides. The girls that came - Gillian, Vicky, Samantha - were standing there trying not to cry with the guys - Jude, Derry, Danny - waved an Australian flag in the background. The other one they brought was secured safely in Varon’s carry-on luggage, and now that he thought about it, had gone down in the fire.
Leaving Australia was different from Yami leaving Domino, of course. Leaving for Varon was because he could a) speak the language, b) fancied a change, c) liked the technology and d) it was convenient. But Yami was leaving, why? Get away? None of the reasons why Varon had left. Varon hadn’t needed to leave, hence the guilty feeling. Yami had to leave, didn’t he? That was the key difference, and one Varon had to remember to observe.
So, Varon returned the smile (and his wasn’t weak; more sad than anything, really), "I’ll hold you to that, then." But of course he wouldn’t, because a departure that required a funeral and funeral invitations wasn’t one that was over so soon, and he couldn’t really hold Yami to that, now could he?
Rating: PG-13 for language and mad ninja skillz D8
Summary: Yami gives out an invitation, Varon decides to break his face, pills are running short, and Ushio pops up for a cameo and some Yuugi-backstory because we ♥ ♥ ♥ him so. Set about a week before Yami held his funeral. First part here.
Varon’s stomach clutched a little, but he swallowed and accepted the card, glancing briefly at the burnt image on the front. He couldn’t make it out, but he could try later. He opened it, being careful in case it fell apart in his hands and he never got to read the message.
It was scribbled, handwriting small and somewhat difficult to read, but he could screw his eyes up and piece it together through the scribbled lines. Addressed it to ‘Kitten’ first, scratched out, but nowhere near enough to obliterate it or match up to the other scribbles.
He gave a soft snort, reading on. Some kanji still visible, but not enough to pick up on easily - he could always go over it again later and see what he could pick out. ‘Take care of yourself. I hope the Dark Side isn’t too lonely. - another scratched out section - Happy Birthday in advance and good luck with…everything. - more scratched out, thick, black and completely unreadable now, which he reckoned was a pity, if Yami had put this much effort into getting rid of it - Good-bye.’
He paused, skimmed it again. There was an odd feeling to seeing Good-bye on the card, because Varon had always seen Good-bye as forever. It was like the overly dramatic, corny knight atop a pure white steed crying, "Farewell, my love!" over his shoulder to some dozy princess who waved a handkerchief at the retreating tin can, crying her little heart out. It meant that the knight was going away, and he wasn’t coming back, and wasn’t that what Yami meant? They were no knight and princess but more of a two-member gang, one of them going off for the final bullet to the head.
The feeling was quite sickening, and Varon swallowed, turning it over in his head. His birthday wasn’t until August, and that left them a good few months between now and then. Which meant a while. But good-bye still meant forever, and forevers meant a while.
He tapped the card with his knuckle - gently - and took a breath.
"All right. I won’t even pretend to grasp why or whatever, but…" he faltered, trying to figure out what he did understand, figure out why or how he was going to accept losing a friend to the Big Bad World, "Are you coming back?"
Because maybe good-bye wasn’t as infinite as forever, and so good-bye might not be forever, and Yami might come back. He was starting to sound to himself like a lost kid, but there you go. After all, most of the corny romances with good-byes were mostly bullshit and propaganda to feed soppy, soft hearted idiots who believe that heroes never die as long as they have love to get them by. In real world terms, people and life were both a lot more complicated than that.
Complicated enough that there really wasn't much of an answer Yami could give. To say there was a possibility, a chance, that was like naming a star. Trying to put an authoritative answer down to something you had no control over, could never reach or touch or even confirm the existence of, when the sky was so vast you'd be lucky even to find the same star again just to repeat its name.
There was no way to say, and no reason to believe he'd ever come back. And plenty of evidence to suggest that once he burned the bridge he was cut off permanently. And no matter how many stories ended with the hero leaping into the water and swimming back once the bridge had sunk, things not being too late after all, a dull weight had settled in his stomach weeks ago, confidence in the fact that there was no hope for reversal.
There was only one way left to go, and Yami had to take it and not look back. And the hows and whys and whatwillIdos of it didn't matter half so much as the fact that he had to go, had to leave, had to get out while there was still some hope left of salvaging himself. That was the thing that he put was faith he could scrap together in, and that would be what he saw through to the end.
...All the same - a calm "No" wouldn't come out. And Yami had never been particularly tactile even before the doctor, Yuugi (so close to him when they were small and still matched that they might have been two halves of the same person in the end) being the one exception, but. Yami had only said a difficult good-bye to three people in his life. His parents, which was no good-bye at all, and Yuugi; the latter was with all sorts of clinging and hugging and embarrassedly half-peeling Yuugi off and half-not-quite-being-able-to-let-go.
Saying good-bye tonelessly and walking away with nothing else, when it was a forever sort of good-bye, seemed...wrong.
Yami should've rehearsed this. Would've made it simpler if he'd worked in individual terms instead of absolutes. But if he had, he might not have been able to go in the first place. Voice came out small either way, "I don't" know "think so."
Varon nodded, swallowing again and flipping the card shut, holding it in both hands and flapping it on his knees. He needed an appropriate response to that. And an appropriate response was not ‘Why the hell not?‘ or ‘But you have to come back‘ because of course he didn’t have to. He could up and leave if he wanted, and he was upping and leaving. That wasn’t something Varon could stop; it was Yami’s own choice and Varon didn’t have the authority to stop.
It was like keeping an animal in a cage anyway. Couldn‘t trap it there when it wanted out. And he could make a few well educated guesses as to why Yami wanted out of here, and he couldn’t blame him for that. The rumours were a start. Whatever happened with Marik was another. Whatever the hell else had happened too. It was selfish expecting Yami to stay here, after all, and he severely doubted Yami would fall to his wants if he ever even expressed them.
But. "I see." Sort of. "What about your brother?" Because Yami wouldn’t just leave his brother, would he? That didn’t seem like something Yami would do. Didn’t image Yami’s brother would appreciate Yami leaving, either.
Yuugi.
Yami swallowed hard. It was just the blood, of course; no other reason. None at all. Really. Because he'd gone through this, gone over it, listed off all the reasons it was going to be all right and he'd manage to do it. But the bit that screamed that he couldn't and it wouldn't refused to die entirely.
"He'll be all right." And Yami's throat hurt now, but he ignored it. Yuugi would be fine. Yuugi had always been fine, and Yuugi had proved he could take care of himself. After a certain point, right, the protector was no longer needed? Maybe never had been. And that meant that chapter of the story was over, and it was time to move on, and the ward could have a separate life, and everyone would be better off, wouldn't they?
Of course. There wasn't any question. But. All the same.
They'd been together since before they were born and why if he'd been so calm reasoning it out was he questioning himself and thisclose to choking on it just because Varon actually came out and said it?
Yami didn't realize he'd touched Varon - hand on his shoulder, instinctive gesture to communicate how important this was and to make sure Varon was listening - until after he'd moved. "I want you to look after him for me. Can you do that?" Not will; that he didn't need to ask about.
Varon blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Yami gripping his shoulder, leaning closer and talking and yes, Varon could do that. Will do it. He’d seen Yami’s brother, and the guy was incredibly short. He imagined he’d have had fun in school. He nodded, first, "Yeah, ‘course I can. He should be easy to keep an eye on, what with the hair and all."
He wanted to try and lighten the situation, because he preferred laughing and smiling over tense and sombre.
"Just one thing for you to do. Keep me updated. Make a post on Live Journal or something, so I know you’re alive and you haven’t been crucified or anything. And update regularly too. I’m good at worrying, but that’s never been a plus point."
And worry he would, if Yami was going off on his own. He had no doubt Yami was capable of handling himself - he’d have the bruise to prove it, probably - but there was obviously someone stronger than Yami in the world, and it would be just Yami’s luck to encounter one of those.
Yami had to remember to breathe again so that he could say "Thank you." Good. Good, very good. Safe, then. Yuugi was safe, and Yuugi would be all right; he trusted Varon to make sure of that. Even if Varon might not have a clue, he'd still be there, and Varon being there was all that really mattered. Just so long as Yuugi would have someone to look after him.
Even if half of what Yami used to convince himself that Yuugi would be all right if he left was the argument that Yuugi no longer needed an older brother to watch his every step and make sure he never had to fall far.
Good. Then. That was everything, wasn't it? He'd already packed all his things up neatly, tucked away his valuables with Yuugi. Valuables really only included a deck and the puzzle his father passed on to him, but Yuugi loved Duel Monsters more than Yami anyway, could use the cards and something to remember him by, and the puzzle was meant to go to Yuugi if anything happened to Yami, anyway, so that...that was really all that particularly mattered.
Everything else was set. He didn't really need to give out invitations, anyway. He could scratch that, and let all the good-byes be finished with right here. It'd make it just the one that he'd said, then, but -- he could live with that. Made it simpler, and then it would all be over with, and he wouldn't have to worry about it. He'd always liked it better to accept that you'd have to leave, and say all your good-byes ahead of time, so that when it came down to it, you could go just like that. No conflict, just acceptance.
Because that was the best way to leave, of course. Everything done up neatly, the story at its end, no choice about going, just the movement forward and that was all. No backward glances, and nothing to look back for. He wasn't sure he could do it, but regardless, it all started (and ended) here. He could do that. Say good-bye now, get any scrap of hesitance dealt with, ride out the rest of the week as painlessly as possible -- the step through the door with no hesitation and the confidence of knowing exactly where you're going -- and exactly why you can never come back.
It was almost like the suicide everyone was so convinced he was planning to commit: all you had to do was gut it out until the day of, then just do it. Nothing more to it.
Varon could be all of his good-byes. It wouldn't matter.
And after this, everything would be easier. So it wasn't lack of progress that "Good-bye" came out too quietly and what was supposed to be casual and detached didn't work quiet the way he planned, and he hated being touched, hated the power it implied and the way it felt and the way it tasted and the residue left on his skin even where people simply looked and all of this he hated, and so all of this he was going to leave, and it was just as simple as that and it'd all be over, except that
He wound up sort of half-hugging, half-clinging. The way you seek shelter, hide your face against someone's shoulder when the world is too much and has hurt you too much and you don't want to go out there again and you don't want to face it alone. Because he was leaving, of course, and he could do this, and he didn't need anyone else's support. Didn't.
But Varon was still there, and warm, and solid, and steady, and and well, maybe contrast helped, because if you could feel how it was, even for a few seconds, to have someone else to hold you up when the weight of it all was so much too much, then -- maybe when you let go and had to recognize that there was no one there to hold you up but yourself, you'd know what you were aiming for. You'd know what it was you needed so desperately to find.
There was that stupid word, "Goodbye," and then Yami was holding onto him, face against his shoulder, and that was unexpected. A far cry from punches or hitting the floor with a boot to the throat. It took a few seconds for Varon to fully process having someone latching onto him - more so when that person was Yami. And his head was still pulsing in that annoying attend-to-me fashion.
It wasn't the same kind of guy-hug Varon was used to. More of the over-exaggerated slapping on back and - with Varon always being the smallest - him being lifted off his feet in a massive bear hug. He had had bruises for weeks after he left for Japan, and coming back was more of the hooking-arm-around-neck and trying to wrestle free to breathe in the Australian air.
Still. Yami wasn't the same kind of person the friends Varon had back home were. He guessed it would take parental death to have one of the guys from back home clinging to his shoulders like this. But Yami was definitely different, and Yami had had entirely different experiences from anyone back home. Whatever they were, since Varon still only knew the bare bones of what had happened.
But this was the "Goodbye" hug, right? Varon swallowed the lump in his throat - damn, Yami hit hard - and twisted his left arm, winding it around Yami’s lower back, and stretching his right around Yami’s shoulders, gripping the furthest one. And, fuck, Yami was tiny. He momentarily refused to believe he’d been decked by him, but … damn. And suddenly he felt a wave of guilt for hitting someone so small in the first place.
It seemed like the time for stupid sentiments, and movies rolled around in his head one by one, but they were all bullshit. He sighed, "Yeah. Goodbye."
He wanted to tack on an, I guess, or, for now, or, just shorten it to ‘bye, getting rid of the finality and the stupid ‘I’ll never see you again’ factor. Even leaving for Japan, he had never said goodbye, and no one had said it to him. That was because he’d come back, for holidays and maybe after he’d finished his education. He’d gone to another country and still no one said goodbye, but was Yami even planning to leave Japan? He might have tightened his grip, but he didn’t think he did, and hoped he didn’t, because the illusion was of a china doll that might shatter any second, not a human being.
...Yeah, he might've, and he did.
But appearances aside, Yami wasn't going to break. Not from being held too tight, and not from any of this. None of what had happened was big enough to destroy him (and he could never let it, no matter how it felt) and this here, this now, this wasn't the way the doctor touched him, and he could tell that by the way that this didn't hurt, so he trusted it not to crumble him either.
Besides, he'd always been this small, really. Just this delicate, just this light. the stratling part shouldn't have been how little he was, but how easily it was hidden, how simple it was for sheer force of personality to overshadow a tiny frame. Enough presence, bearing, self-confidence -- that made up for a lot. Or it had before. Before, he'd awlays created enough of an impression, with looks and intensity and arrogance and whatever point he was driving home, that he didn't seem so fragile.
A bare 5'3" at best, but he'd always been able to cover for that. Before. Now, though...amazing how much less five feet-three inches seemed with your face ground into the dirt. Somewhere along the line, and he knew the hour it had happened by heart, leather and collars and confidence all at sharp angles gave way to a borrowed sweatshirt that threatened to drown him and blank expressions and words that wouldn't quite come out.
And he could leave that behind. He held tighter to Varon than he meant to, than he wanted to, but he could leave it behind. It was all just a question of determination. Yes. He pulled away from Varon, stood up, breathed. Straightened everything out in his head. He could leave this all behind. It was all just a question of doing. And he had to keep repeating that to himself or he'd stop believing it was the only solution.
Yes. Moment past, and that sort of clinging was the last he'd do from here on out. He could do this, and he could do this alone. And he had to. That was the only way for it. Alone and far enough away that none of this was real.
He sucked in a slow breath, tried to find some piece of the person he'd been before he started to seem so frail. There. Confident if weak smile. "I'll be back before you have a chance to miss me, anyway."
Yami started to move, so Varon let go, watching Yami stand up again. Varon settled his elbows on his knees, and that weight in his stomach seemed heavier than before. The "Goodbye"s has been said and the hug was now over, and - reassurance that Yami would be back.
Standing in the airport, aged eighteen and waving off to friends and family, he’d called, "Don’t miss me too much!", causing his mother to burst into tears and him to cringe. His father had petted his mother’s shoulder and nodded Varon on, but it didn’t stop the guilt eating at his insides. The girls that came - Gillian, Vicky, Samantha - were standing there trying not to cry with the guys - Jude, Derry, Danny - waved an Australian flag in the background. The other one they brought was secured safely in Varon’s carry-on luggage, and now that he thought about it, had gone down in the fire.
Leaving Australia was different from Yami leaving Domino, of course. Leaving for Varon was because he could a) speak the language, b) fancied a change, c) liked the technology and d) it was convenient. But Yami was leaving, why? Get away? None of the reasons why Varon had left. Varon hadn’t needed to leave, hence the guilty feeling. Yami had to leave, didn’t he? That was the key difference, and one Varon had to remember to observe.
So, Varon returned the smile (and his wasn’t weak; more sad than anything, really), "I’ll hold you to that, then." But of course he wouldn’t, because a departure that required a funeral and funeral invitations wasn’t one that was over so soon, and he couldn’t really hold Yami to that, now could he?