It just sucks, because he was supposed to be done with shit like this, with going off to other worlds and dimensions, he was supposed to be going home to be with Keiko, to marry Keiko, and now he wasn’t.
He tries to write her a letter once, but his handwriting is terrible and he keeps scratching things out because he can’t make the words say what he wants. He should just write, “I miss you,” but that doesn’t cover it and she’ll never read it, so he balls up the paper and throws it into the corner of his apartment and goes to the beach.
Sitting on the sand helps, because if he closes his eyes and goes very still he can see Keiko. He gets so afraid sometimes, that he’s forgetting her. Forgetting what it felt like when her warm, solid weight connected with his chest and tackled him into the waves and the press of her lips-finally, finally, it only took them what, eighteen years?-and the pound of her heart against his chest.
He forgets sometimes, that he used to have a heartbeat of his own. He’s gotten used to the silence.
It scares him; it scares him so fucking much that he could get used to this place, to being without her. He sometimes thinks he wants to rip the whole City apart to find a way out, but there isn’t one. The only way to get back to Keiko is to wait.
He’s never been good at waiting.
He gets so restless and sometimes on the Network, someone will say something that reminds him of her and it just makes his whole body ache. Those are the nights he’ll stay up, holding the details in his head so he won’t forget, not ever, except there’s always the chance he will.
He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that ever happens.
It’s hard. Harder than he lets on.
It just sucks, because he was supposed to be done with shit like this, with going off to other worlds and dimensions, he was supposed to be going home to be with Keiko, to marry Keiko, and now he wasn’t.
He tries to write her a letter once, but his handwriting is terrible and he keeps scratching things out because he can’t make the words say what he wants. He should just write, “I miss you,” but that doesn’t cover it and she’ll never read it, so he balls up the paper and throws it into the corner of his apartment and goes to the beach.
Sitting on the sand helps, because if he closes his eyes and goes very still he can see Keiko. He gets so afraid sometimes, that he’s forgetting her. Forgetting what it felt like when her warm, solid weight connected with his chest and tackled him into the waves and the press of her lips-finally, finally, it only took them what, eighteen years?-and the pound of her heart against his chest.
He forgets sometimes, that he used to have a heartbeat of his own. He’s gotten used to the silence.
It scares him; it scares him so fucking much that he could get used to this place, to being without her. He sometimes thinks he wants to rip the whole City apart to find a way out, but there isn’t one. The only way to get back to Keiko is to wait.
He’s never been good at waiting.
He gets so restless and sometimes on the Network, someone will say something that reminds him of her and it just makes his whole body ache. Those are the nights he’ll stay up, holding the details in his head so he won’t forget, not ever, except there’s always the chance he will.
He doesn’t know what he’ll do if that ever happens.
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