The cottage was shitty and small and it smelled like must. Five people, two bedrooms, meant space was a premium. They were used to small spaces by now. Katsuo slept on the couch, Rea on top of him some nights, somewhere else the others. With Myja, he figured, the times she wasn’t with him. When she was on top of him, things got a little easier, the extra weight on his chest compressing his heart and keeping him there. If he woke up in a panic, all he needed was to look down and see her mussed up hair, her head on his chest, to hold her hand, and he felt - not okay. Things were rarely okay for him, even here. But he didn’t feel as bad.
Sometimes they chatted quietly, nonsensically. Sometimes they cuddled, all warm and secure. But tonight he was calm, and it was enough to hold her hand, feel her weight on his chest and watch the fan above make those odd whup-whup-whup-whup sounds as it rotated slowly, pushing stale air around the room. Rea yawned in her sleep and he put his free hand over the side of her face, to block out the moonlight. Or the...sunlight. Nothing seemed right in this weird landscape, only the sensation that this had somehow happened before gnawing away in his gut like a parasite.
He squeezed Rea’s hand and with through a haze of sleep she squeezed his hand back and let out a small noise. Even asleep, even unconscious, she tried to tell him everything would be okay. “Rea,” he said, but couldn’t think of anything else to say after that. She made a mumbling noise, like she was trying to reply. He put his other hand on her head. He squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back. Sometimes he tried to picture the end of all this, after he’d killed the inugami, after everything was over. What would they do? Go home to different worlds? Even at home they’d be in different countries - Japan and...fuck, the USA, right? Canada? He’d never actually asked. He didn’t know what to say, what he was supposed to say. Sometimes, late at night, everything felt like it was speeding towards some kind of conclusion. This all had happened before, he just couldn’t shake that sensation. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Everything felt all messed up, like a swirling cloud of pain was heading their way. He squeezed her hand. Sometimes, there was a ball in his chest, tangling up his organs around it. She squeezed back.
Maybe staying here was key. He squeezed her hand. Maybe they should shut off their spaceship and stay on this little planet, for the rest of time. She squeezed back. Maybe this was where they could be safe, here, Wayward Son against the rest of the universe. We just need somewhere we can be safe, he thought, and lay in the dark and listened to the cottage breathe.
Dinner table. Soup by Silk. Rea had a fork. Katsuo lifted up his spoon. Rea lifted her fork and made it bow to his fork. Despite himself, Katsuo smirked. “The spoon says hello.”
“The fork is confused,” Rea explained. “The fork thought it was fake chicken nugget night.”
“The fork is useless.”
“The spoon is just jealous because it will never be as shiny and sharp as the fork.”
“The spoon says haha, good luck eating anything tonight.”
“The spoon’s kind of a dick.”
“Yeah…” Under the table his toes clumsily, gently, collided with her shin. He didn’t know how to do this. She reached over and took his spoon. He took it back. “I better watch the spoon. It’s up to something.”
They looked at each other. For a second he thought he might say something. He thought she might say something. They watched each other’s faces and discovered that they didn’t have to say anything. She bumped her toes gently into his shin. “Cool,” she said.
Katsuo and Rea have worked out which pots are the ones they can’t eat out of through trial and error. They know what times they can enter the kitchen and find someone else cooking. Their know whose cooking to avoid. They know everything there is to know about space travel, more than any astronaut. Any astronaut would feel sheer envy to see them, imperfect as they are, so perfectly wonderful at travelling through space and time. No astronauts could fuck with them, no NASA scientist could build a fort the way they do, no rocket could match their brilliance.
Rea builds a fort out of blankets and pillows. He knows it’s her fort because one of her sneakers is sticking out the entrance. The others don’t wear converses. The others don’t build forts in the bedroom. Katsuo pats her ankle by way of knocking. “Come in,” she says, so he comes in and lays on his stomach beside her in the dark. “Welcome,” she says.
“Hey,” he says. They lie in the dark in silence. Shoulder to shoulder, the silence a nice kind of awkward, a familiar darkness. He can’t see her, but he can hear her breathe, feel the warmth of her body beside him.
“This is nice,” she says after a little while. He can tell she’s trying to be genuine. It feels kinda genuine too, a nice warm sentiment that bubbles in his stomach and disperses into butterflies. He rests his hand on the small of her back. He’s still having the dreams, where he walks into a house and the insides are stained red and he squeezes her hand and she doesn’t squeeze back.
He needed to feel...useful. So he chopped herbs for Myja and fetched water for her potions. The water was on the other side of the settlement - the cottages all bundled up and bunched in a group, the well elsewhere. When he walked to the well and looked back, all the cottages teemed together, grouped themselves up.
When he walked back, the little houses seemed to grow together and it took him a while to find the right one, banging on the door. It took a moment for the door to open. When it did, the person inside the house wasn't Rea or Myja and he felt his chest tighten. "Who're you?"
"Who're you?" The person asked, looking annoyed.
"Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here?" He fell into anger before he worked out fully what happened, his jaw setting. He dropped the buckets, the water spilling out and into the mud.
“Hey,” Rea’s voice. He turned, the spilled water churning the dust to mud under his feet. His heart was pounding in his chest and adrenaline was rushing through him. Rea was here. He lowered his fists and stepped back, standing next to her. His heart was pounding. His hand found one of her wrists. “Hey,” she said. “We’re over one.”
“Right,” he said. It did sound right, coming from Rea. He glanced at the cottage in front of him, but the owner had closed the door. Shit. “Over one.”
“Right.”
“I spilled the water,” he said. “I’ll go get some more.”
She didn’t offer to come with him and he felt relieved, knowing she wasn’t treating him like some kind of basket case. But then he looked over his shoulder and saw her step back into the shadows between the two houses and realised she’d been waiting for him to make the slip up. He threw the bucket on the ground and left it there.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WWS
to the lighthouse (once more)
Sometimes they chatted quietly, nonsensically. Sometimes they cuddled, all warm and secure. But tonight he was calm, and it was enough to hold her hand, feel her weight on his chest and watch the fan above make those odd whup-whup-whup-whup sounds as it rotated slowly, pushing stale air around the room. Rea yawned in her sleep and he put his free hand over the side of her face, to block out the moonlight. Or the...sunlight. Nothing seemed right in this weird landscape, only the sensation that this had somehow happened before gnawing away in his gut like a parasite.
He squeezed Rea’s hand and with through a haze of sleep she squeezed his hand back and let out a small noise. Even asleep, even unconscious, she tried to tell him everything would be okay. “Rea,” he said, but couldn’t think of anything else to say after that. She made a mumbling noise, like she was trying to reply. He put his other hand on her head. He squeezed her hand.
She squeezed back. Sometimes he tried to picture the end of all this, after he’d killed the inugami, after everything was over. What would they do? Go home to different worlds? Even at home they’d be in different countries - Japan and...fuck, the USA, right? Canada? He’d never actually asked. He didn’t know what to say, what he was supposed to say. Sometimes, late at night, everything felt like it was speeding towards some kind of conclusion. This all had happened before, he just couldn’t shake that sensation. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Everything felt all messed up, like a swirling cloud of pain was heading their way. He squeezed her hand. Sometimes, there was a ball in his chest, tangling up his organs around it. She squeezed back.
Maybe staying here was key. He squeezed her hand. Maybe they should shut off their spaceship and stay on this little planet, for the rest of time. She squeezed back. Maybe this was where they could be safe, here, Wayward Son against the rest of the universe. We just need somewhere we can be safe, he thought, and lay in the dark and listened to the cottage breathe.
He squeezed her hand.
dinner
“The fork is confused,” Rea explained. “The fork thought it was fake chicken nugget night.”
“The fork is useless.”
“The spoon is just jealous because it will never be as shiny and sharp as the fork.”
“The spoon says haha, good luck eating anything tonight.”
“The spoon’s kind of a dick.”
“Yeah…” Under the table his toes clumsily, gently, collided with her shin. He didn’t know how to do this. She reached over and took his spoon. He took it back. “I better watch the spoon. It’s up to something.”
They looked at each other. For a second he thought he might say something. He thought she might say something. They watched each other’s faces and discovered that they didn’t have to say anything. She bumped her toes gently into his shin. “Cool,” she said.
no subject
Rea builds a fort out of blankets and pillows. He knows it’s her fort because one of her sneakers is sticking out the entrance. The others don’t wear converses. The others don’t build forts in the bedroom. Katsuo pats her ankle by way of knocking. “Come in,” she says, so he comes in and lays on his stomach beside her in the dark. “Welcome,” she says.
“Hey,” he says. They lie in the dark in silence. Shoulder to shoulder, the silence a nice kind of awkward, a familiar darkness. He can’t see her, but he can hear her breathe, feel the warmth of her body beside him.
“This is nice,” she says after a little while. He can tell she’s trying to be genuine. It feels kinda genuine too, a nice warm sentiment that bubbles in his stomach and disperses into butterflies. He rests his hand on the small of her back. He’s still having the dreams, where he walks into a house and the insides are stained red and he squeezes her hand and she doesn’t squeeze back.
“Yeah,” he says.
helperdog
When he walked back, the little houses seemed to grow together and it took him a while to find the right one, banging on the door. It took a moment for the door to open. When it did, the person inside the house wasn't Rea or Myja and he felt his chest tighten. "Who're you?"
"Who're you?" The person asked, looking annoyed.
"Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here?" He fell into anger before he worked out fully what happened, his jaw setting. He dropped the buckets, the water spilling out and into the mud.
“Hey,” Rea’s voice. He turned, the spilled water churning the dust to mud under his feet. His heart was pounding in his chest and adrenaline was rushing through him. Rea was here. He lowered his fists and stepped back, standing next to her. His heart was pounding. His hand found one of her wrists. “Hey,” she said. “We’re over one.”
“Right,” he said. It did sound right, coming from Rea. He glanced at the cottage in front of him, but the owner had closed the door. Shit. “Over one.”
“Right.”
“I spilled the water,” he said. “I’ll go get some more.”
She didn’t offer to come with him and he felt relieved, knowing she wasn’t treating him like some kind of basket case. But then he looked over his shoulder and saw her step back into the shadows between the two houses and realised she’d been waiting for him to make the slip up. He threw the bucket on the ground and left it there.
Fuck it.