Chapter Text
When he opens his eyes, the first thing he catches sight of is the starlit ceiling above his head, glow-in-the-dark stars pasted neatly over blue paint. He's lying on smooth bedsheets, propped up by pillows with a stuffed plush by his side.
There's a groggy feeling in his head, almost like waking up from a dream; one where he'd been asleep for a long, long time. His thoughts sink like molasses. They slip by him, and he lets it, indulging in the liminal space between fuzzy drowsiness and wakeful awareness.
Warm streaks of sunlight paint the room in amber hues; the sound of traffic in the distance, the distant melody of birdsong. Vaguely, he feels the sensation of coolness from a recently wrung washcloth, settled neatly on his forehead. A hand clings limply onto his right hand, fingers loosened from sleep.
Tsukasa turns his head slightly and finds his sister asleep next to him, sat by his bedside with her face tucked into the crook of her elbow, fingers intertwined around his own. He catches sight of the red blinking numbers on a digital clock set precariously near the edge of the nightstand.
Nearly dinner time. At this rate, they wouldn't be home in time for dinner.
Still, he hesitates, unable to bring himself to wake Saki up. It's rare enough that his sister willingly takes a break, so he'll take whatever rest she gets—though, he thinks with much amusement, she just might not appreciate waking up with a crick in her neck. He sighs indulgently as he works to loosen his fingers from Saki's slackened grip, trying not to succumb to the darkness lingering at edges of his vision. There is a heaviness that settles uneasily in the pits of his stomach still, when he looks closer and catches sight of the bags under Saki's eyes and the deep crease between her brows even in the throes of sleep.
The creaking of a door halts him right in place. In the space of one moment and the next, the emptiness of the room fills with sound.
Kamishiro Rui walks in, a basin of water tucked precariously under an arm as he singlehandedly balances a tray with an assortment of items on it: a container of pills, a glass of water, and a bowl he recognises to be broth even from a distance away.
Their gazes meet. Rui freezes, but only for the briefest of moments, before he seems to gain his bearings, greeting him with a startlingly cheerful smile. "You're awake."
There's a rare show of unadulterated delight in Rui's voice that he doesn't even try to hide. "Good evening, Tsukasa-kun. Welcome back to the land of the living, you've been asleep for quite a while. Fufu, any longer and we would've started getting worried."
The words take a moment to register, sounding much like incomprehensible jargon to his ears before they finally sink in.
Oh. Tsukasa twitches as the memories gradually begin to resurface. He remembers now what happened, and he lets himself curl into himself for just a brief moment, indulging in the absolute weariness that crashes over him. He can't speak, still. The words catch on his throat, leaving his breathing shaky as he struggles to keep it steady. The flush on his skin feels like shame. He can't quite meet Rui's gaze.
But if anything, Rui seems to not mind. Without any regard for his lack of familiar quips or his lacklustre response, he saunters right into the room, still smiling easily as he asks, "Are you hungry? I brought broth."
The basin under his arms is set onto the desk across him, the tray settled onto the nightstand beside his bed. No more words are exchanged or needed. The sound of a washcloth being wrung dry; Rui replaces the drying washcloth on his forehead, its chill soothing to the fever on his skin.
"You still have a fever," he murmurs quietly, hands brushing his sweat-matted bangs aside, a hummingbird's touch. "Do you remember what happened?"
Tsukasa's brows furrow. Slowly, he shakes his head. He doesn't quite know how he left the sekai, let alone got here–wherever here even was.
Rui hums quietly, tucking the blanket settled over him higher. "I suppose that's to be expected. You collapsed from a fever after we left the sekai," he explains. "I called your sister and brought you here to rest. Imouto-kun hasn't let you out of her sight once. You were missing for four hours, and asleep for another twelve."
Something complicated stirs in his gut. Thick and heavy; the feeling of guilt, mixed with, oddly enough, a sense of relief that loosens the vice-grip in his lungs.
"S'rry," he croaks out pathetically, the words coming out just a little bit easier. He focuses his gaze on the starlit ceiling in front of his eyes, even as he feels the way Rui seems to still, as though from surprise.
"Don't apologise." Rui reaches out to brush through his bangs again. A mild scolding note in his tone as he chides, "Didn't I already tell you this before, idiot? Don't tell me you've forgotten it this quickly, it hasn't even been a day yet."
Tsukasa scowls slightly. "Don't call me an idiot, idiot."
Rui smirks back. "Then Tsukasa-kun will have to endeavour to make me change his opinion of him."
The scowl on his face slips then. He doesn't answer, not immediately, even as Rui frowns at his suddenly dampened mood. "What's wrong?"
The ever present fear rears its ugly head again. Being perceived, the eyes casting judgement on his wilted frame; it makes the weight in his stomach grow heavy and leaden. Saki sleeps on beside him, and he focuses his attention on the rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing instead. There's comfort in that, in being able to anticipate every breath. He remembers how he used to do this back in the days Saki would climb into his bed after a nightmare. He would stay awake, sitting beside her hospital bed and counting her breaths as she'd slept and he'd watched over her.
Slowly, Tsukasa sits up. The corners of his vision blurs and dims, and he blinks rapidly trying to rid of the lingering darkness. He heaves from the effort, a little taken aback by how winded he is from the single motion. It takes a moment, but he manages a response, changing the topic.
"I could eat," he says neutrally. As usual, Rui doesn't push, taking his non-answer with grace—not that Tsukasa expected him to push anyway, seeing as how the furrow between his brows had creased deeper at the sight of Tsukasa's blatant exhaustion. "Where are we?"
"My room." Rui gestures vaguely at the space, tilting his head.
He finally takes his surroundings for the first time. Scattered tools on the desk across him, papers pinned onto the walls and ceiling decorated with stars and colourful balloons.
"Oh," he murmurs quietly, a little bit bewildered, but mostly fond. "It suits you."
Rui only sounds amused as he replies, "I'm glad you think so. It is my room after all."
"You know what I mean." He shoots back with mock annoyance, rolling his eyes playfully. Hand reaching out to swat at Rui, it's a laughable attempt, sluggish and shaky, but Rui plays along, pretending to stumble from the force of his swat as he places a hand over his heart and makes a wounded sound.
"Tsukasa-kun, that hurts!"
If anything though, it only makes Tsukasa scowl harder, shifting slightly to impulsively try to reach out to land a harder punch onto Rui's arm, only to fall completely off the mark and instead dislodging Saki's comfortable position beside him.
"Onii-chan...?" The sound of his sister's voice, groggy and sleep-laden, diverts all attention back to her. It's the only reason why Tsukasa manages to catch Saki blinking awake blearily, holding his breath as she takes a few more seconds to truly wake up and take in her surroundings. His attentiveness to detail is rewarded by how he captures the exact moment Saki registers his wakefulness. She jerks awake with wide eyes immediately, and for a few moments, they make stilted eye contact, neither saying a word.
"Onii-chan," Saki repeats disbelievingly, a complicated look of anguish flitting across her face. "You're awake."
"Mm." He nods, offering a smile of his own, weary and equally devastated. "I'm here, Saki."
And to his horror, Saki's eyes well up with tears immediately, and she nearly falls off her chair with how rapidly she reaches out to clutch Tsukasa's hand with a grip that just borders on painful. Regardless, he squeezes back, uncaring of the way it reawakens the ache in his body.
The first of the tears begin to fall, and it's a parody of their last conversation; the same actions, the same outcome—he's always making Saki upset, he's always the cause of her tears. Clinging onto Saki's hands and letting them ground him, he's suddenly aware of the tightness lodged in his throat. He doesn't think he could speak if he tried, and if his body were just a little bit stronger, perhaps he'd have succumbed to the blaring instinct in him to run again.
Saki's hands are warm and real. He thinks of stuffed lions and hard plastic chairs, a grey room, Rui and his promise.
"You came back. Thank you for coming back."
Leaning in, Saki presses her head into his shoulder like she used to do when she was younger. He used to think he could carry some of the weight on Saki's shoulders this way. It touches and scares him both in equal measure; that even after everything, his sister still accorded him that same level of trust as she did years ago in a quiet hospital room, shut away from the rest of the world.
"You scared me when I first saw you again, and you were unconscious and so, so sick." Saki's voice, muffled by the fabric of his shirt, continues shakily. He hears the ever-so-often hitch in her breaths, feeling the way his shirt grows damp from her tears. "I wish you knew how much you working yourself to the bone like that always makes me think about just how unfair it all is, the weight that you carry. I wish you knew how much I love you."
And the words that he swallows away, guiltily, that he struggles to hold back, are rote. I'm fine, he wants to say, even when it isn't, even as he wants to stop pretending.
Tsukasa bows his head. He doesn't know what to do. The terror of it overwhelms him, and he fights against that ever-constant urge to run, admitting shamefully instead, "I don't understand."
"I know," Saki's laugh is wet as she lifts her head, and there's nothing but gentle kindness in her gaze. "But that's okay." Her hands squeeze his own again. "It's fine, Onii-chan. You don't have to understand right now. You can take your time. Just let us take care of you for the time being as you figure things out, alright?"
The shame, a monstrous being with fangs digging into him, grows and suffocates him. He tugs his hand away, not quite being able to hold Saki's gaze. "But it's not right for me to burden you like this. I've already failed enough as a big brother."
He's loved, he knows that. It's a truth that he doesn't doubt. But he struggles with the weight of it, of just what it might mean. That quiet, ugly part of him hisses, look what you've done, look at how you're ruining everything.
Don't look at me, don't think of me, don't love me—
("Sometimes I wish you'd be more selfish.")
He wonders when enough will be enough; for him to take and take and take like this, isn't it already selfish enough? Isn't it enough?
"If I do this, I don't know how I could still possibly be worthy enough to be called your older brother, Saki." His laugh is tremulous, and so, so lost. "I don't know how to be a good big brother."
Saki only shakes her head vehemently. "Love isn't measured by worth, Tsukasa. Even if it doesn't feel like it, even if you're struggling, you deserve to be loved. You deserve good things too, and that means letting others take care of you from time to time."
"But that's not right. It's my job as your older brother to take care of you!"
"And it's my role as your younger sister to watch over you!" Saki retorts, very nearly snapping. "We're family, and that means we take care of each other. You don't need to give everything up for me. You don't need to pretend all the time. That's not what I want!"
Then what? What else can he give? He doesn't know, and as he shakes his head, lost and devastated, he thinks he sees that glimmer of understanding in Saki's eyes, that exact moment she crosses the chasm and sees the twisted, mangled mess that exists in the cavity of his lungs.
"I just want you to be happy," she says, voice hoarse and barely louder than a whisper. It's still more deafening than anything other sound in the room, more devastating than anything else he's heard in the past few weeks; all the yelling and the tears and the arguments. It makes him stop short, faltering.
And then he laughs, and laughs, and laughs. Once upon a time, it wouldn't have mattered if he was happy or not, because things were just the way they were. And yet, now...
Now, after everything...
"When did you grow up without me looking, huh?" he croaks miserably. "I wish I could've done more for you."
Reaching out, hands over his own, a whisper by his ear. His sister leans in. "You've always been more than enough, Onii-chan. You're everything."
Beyond them, the scintillating sunlight illuminates the dust mites in the room. Tsukasa looks askance and breathes, and he thinks, you are so loved. A bowl of broth offered to him, a head pressed into his shoulders, a promise of being enough.
Despite everything, he's still here. He hasn't disappeared, not yet.
He is so, so tired.
But— "Okay," he acquiesces, and it's... it's a start. Deep down, beyond the detached bewilderment and the exhaustion bogging him down, something small flickers to life; a desire for hope, a promise.
This time, I'll stay.
Tsukasa finds it in himself to try.
In some ways, going home is both overwhelming and lacklustre.
He's accosted from the moment he enters the front door, sentenced to the couch as his family flits around him, trying to make him comfortable. He knows he should be grateful—and he is, but between the raging fever, the fog in his mind, and the absolute exhaustion, it's hard for him to focus on anything past the mind-numbing apathy.
It's easier to just not think. The days pass in fragmented sensations. He sinks into the comfort of weighted blankets tucked over his dozing self, bowls and bowls of warm broth and chicken soup. Hands over his sweaty bangs, a wrung cloth, the faint beeping of a thermometer.
He's never alone. Every time he resurfaces from the depths of unconsciousness, in every brief moment of lucidity, someone is there; sitting by him with a hand in his own, whispering assurances that he can't quite comprehend. It's comforting, as much as it makes him guilty. The quiet shame of it often overwhelms him in those rare moments of awareness before he slips back into slumber.
But even so, he lets it happen. He lets himself be taken care of. He feels small, smaller than he's felt in a long, long time, but there is catharsis to that. There is quiet contentment. He wonders if that's enough these days, just being. He doesn't quite know what to do beyond that.
His fever breaks three days later.
He doesn't go back to school, and nobody pushes him to.
"The meal isn't going to eat itself, you know."
Blinking rapidly, he startles at the sound of amusement in his mother's voice.
"Oh," Tsukasa replies faintly, with a muted sort of surprise. He hadn't even realised he'd been drifting. Belatedly, he takes a bite, following his mother's pointed glance towards his full plate. "Sorry, I just got lost in thought."
His mother quirks a brow, but doesn't push. From the seat across his, Saki swallows down her plate of curry with gusto. His father sighs exasperatedly then, half-heartedly scolding her to slow down, though that exasperation is doused mostly with an undercurrent of amusement.
It's endearing and familiar in all the best ways, and it eases the tension lining his shoulders.
Tsukasa breathes. He's here, he's alive. He doesn't want to forget this; how easy it can be being surrounded by family, the easy conversations between bites of his mother's home-made cooking; where time passes slowly, with no expectations or difficult questions or any worry in the air.
A blink—Saki sighs about the test she had after lunch today. Another blink—his mother's eyes light up as she shares about her students' musical progress (and their occasional destruction of Tchaikovsky pieces).
He takes another bite of his curry, and the flavour lingers on his tongue. The taste of his mother's cooking nostalgic and warm, reminiscent to those quieter, forgotten days sat at the table, grinning along to a cartoon in the background as Saki had laughed in delight.
Standing to clear the dishes, he ignores the twisting in his gut at the bittersweet reminder. He's learnt by now that it's better not to dwell on it, not when his feelings about his childhood have always been too complicated to put an exact name on.
"Tsukasa, are you doing the dishes?" his mother asks. For a moment, there's a flicker of emotion on her face, something distinctively lost in her gaze. She stops mid conversation with his father, turning to focus her complete attention on him with an unwavering stare.
"...Can't I?"
Tsukasa stares back, even as his gut twists, and the shame makes his skin crawl.
("Saki told me how you did an amazing job at your show tonight. You must be tired. Leave the dishes to me, alright? Go get some early shut-eye!")
He sees it clearly in hindsight, how irrational it is to feel like this. But it doesn't ever stop the hurt or the rejection of being treated like a guest. That chasm that lies between him and his family only ever grows, until all he can do is watch from the other side of the glass, unable to understand just what he was doing wrong.
The silence drags on, those few precious seconds seeming to span for an eternity. He doesn't trust himself to speak, gaze dropping to the polished floors of the kitchen in lieu of anything else.
"...Okay," his mother replies finally then, soft and fond, breaking the stalemate in the air. It startles him enough for him to lift his gaze, wide-eyed and surprised. "Let's do it together then."
"Together?" he echoes, confused.
"You wanted to do the dishes, right?" His mother grins, already standing from her chair as she grabs hold of the last of the dishes he'd planned on doubling back to take. "It'll be a lot faster with two pairs of hands!"
From the table, his father laughs good-naturedly. "Ah, so you both will be on wash-up duty today? That's good, Saki and I will do the dishes next time then."
"Ehhhhhh?" Saki pouts, but there's a smile on her face that's just as bright. "Well, I guess that's only fair..."
"Well, then that's that!" His mother flits past him towards the sink, setting the dishes onto the countertop as she flings a dishcloth towards him. "I'll wash, and you'll dry—how does that sound?"
It's all so bewildering and confusing. He finds that he can't muster much more of a reaction than a slow nod.
"Right," he says dazedly, finally managing to unstick his feet from the ground and start washing up. The motions of cleaning and drying are rhythmic. His mother talks and talks and talks, conversations about anything and everything making the chore past by all the more quickly. He can't remember the last time he'd been able to spend time with his mother like this—not since those piano lessons from a lifetime ago.
Eventually, the dishes are washed and put away. The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, and then he's pulled into a hug by his mother, comforting and tight.
"Thank you for helping. It's much more fun doing chores together, isn't it?" she murmurs, patting his hair and smoothening out the worst of its unruliness. It leaves his strands wet, something he'd usually protest, but throat tight with emotion, he finds himself instead unable to do anything but nod with shamefully teary eyes, face tucked into the curve of his mother's neck.
"Do you want to join Papa and Saki now?" Mama murmurs.
He nods again, before pulling back and wiping his eyes briefly. Mama ushers him into the living room, and he lets himself be tugged towards the couch where Papa smiles at him and Saki presses her cold feet against his own, making him jump.
"Saki—! Ahhhhhhh, your feet are cold!" he yelps.
"Too bad!" Saki teases, sticking her tongue out playfully, and with all the attitude of a haughty younger sibling, snickers. "It's younger sister privileges!"
Tsukasa rolls his eyes. "I let you get away with way too much."
"And that's why you're the best big brother in the world!"
Saki thrusts a controller into his hands, grinning cheerily. There's a moment of pause as they share a glance, weighted and meaningful, before he softens, leaning more of his weight against his sister's. The easy laughter, the vibrant conversations, the lively house; all of it is fun and light, making the weight in his lungs that much easier to handle.
"Onii-chan," Saki says then, quiet and resolute. "Let's play again tomorrow too."
The glow of the television light illuminates her face, and the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
He's nearly bowled over by the sight of it; the quiet contentment in her eyes. At his prolonged silence, and perhaps mistaking his non-answer for refusal, Saki glances over to him, then says like a foregone conclusion, "Ah, unless you have plans with Rui and your friends tomorrow?"
"Huh?" He's caught entirely off-guard. "I don't... think I have plans? I'm still banned from practice."
"Huh?" Saki parrots right back, and the look on her face would be comical if Tsukasa himself wasn't just as confused. Is he... supposed to have made plans?
"I've texted Rui and the rest for a bit since, well, everything, but Rui hasn't really said anything to me about coming back yet, so..."
Most of their conversations had been about anything and everything else other than practice or meet-ups. Instead, there'd only been a wealth of messages telling him to get more rest, shark facts (courtesy of Emu's latest obsession with marine creatures), Nene's aggressive brand of affection in the form of messages telling him to 'sleep earlier before you lose more brain cells, you show idiot', or Rui's newest inventions.
Unable to say much of anything else, Tsukasa shrugs instead.
Saki furrows her brows, pursing her lips. Something complicated twists her expression briefly, before she sighs, shaking her head.
"Well then," she says primly, rather haughtily at that. "Looks like you'll be free tomorrow to help me max out my friendship with the villagers."
It's not really a question. Tsukasa twitches at the unbidden warning in Saki's tone: you better say yes, or else.
"Right," he says faintly. "Yes, sure. Absolutely."
Saki nods. "Tomorrow. And then you'll be free on Monday to go hang out with your friends."
"Ah...?"
Since when had that been decided...?
But there's a glimmer in Saki's eyes that Tsukasa has long since learnt to fear. He's also learnt, a long time ago, to just not question it. It's safer for him that way (though he still lights a candle in his heart of those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of Saki's wrath).
Kamishiro Rui • Yesterday at 03.13am
Tsukasa-kun, I apologise for the late message, but I thought I'd just check in for a bit. Has your fever broken? Are you feeling better?
Saki-kun told me you feel ready to go back to school on Monday. If you're up for it, let's have lunch together :)
Tenma Tsukasa • Today at 07.23am
Ah, Rui! Of course! I'm feeling much better, and I've recovered fully from my sickness.
I'd be delighted to have lunch with you.
That is, unless I'm to be an unwilling test subject for those inventions of yours.
Kamishiro Rui • Today at 07.23am
Oya... Tsukasa-kun... How little faith you have in me...? What sort of director would I be if I were to subject my star to work on his first day back?
Rest assured, there'll be no robots in sight. I just have something I need to talk to you about.
Nothing bad, I promise. Don't worry.
Tenma Tsukasa • Today at 07.25am
...Somehow I don't feel reassured in the slightest, but alright.
I'll trust your words.
See you on Monday then?
Kamishiro Rui • Today at 07.26am
Mn.
See you then.
They sit side by side at lunch, lunchboxes settled onto their laps on the bench by the sakura trees that have gradually begun to wilt.
Their shoulders touch, and the contact is comforting. Tsukasa launches quickly into a retelling of his first day back at school, complete with gestures and an abundance of enthusiasm.
"—and today, Akane-kun told me he went and saw you guys perform again!" He beams, excitement and good mood infectious and bright. "He thought you guys were amazing, Rui! As expected from Wondershow, right?"
It's only belatedly that he realises that Rui has gone quiet, with a contemplative look on his face. He's been a companionable conversationalist thus far, listening to Tsukasa's ramblings attentively, interjecting at all the right places and nodding at others. The expression on Rui's face now has twisted into something complicated and pained.
Tugging the chopsticks out of Tsukasa's hands and setting it atop of his bento, Rui says sheepishly, "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."
Like that isn't ominous at all.
"...Is this about me being benched?" he asks self-consciously, bracing himself. "It's fine, Rui. I understand now that you were only watching out for me. It's not—"
"Come back to Wondershow, Tsukasa-kun." Rui's leg pressing comfortingly against his own stops him mid sentence.
"...What?"
"Come back," Rui repeats patiently. "You miss shows, don't you?"
Rui's smile is kind. There's not even the slightest hint of accusation in it, light and entirely sincere, despite the offer being completely out of the blue; despite Tsukasa having done nothing to deserve that kindness.
"...Are you sure?" He drops his gaze down to his own trembling hands, tracing the stars sewn onto the cuffs of his cardigans—his own handiwork.
...Am I wanted there?
It's a quiet thought; a pervading question, one with an answer he's almost afraid to know. It makes him timid, unable to meet Rui's eyes, even as the silence drags on.
"You've always had a place with us," Rui says, with nothing but surety in his tone. "I'm sorry we made you feel like you didn't belong."
Without any hint of hesitation, he tangles their fingers together, squeezing them tight. Their interlocked hands are warm, and Tsukasa laughs wetly at that, chest aching and eyes filling abruptly with tears, even when he isn't even sure why.
"Stupid, of course I'll come back to Wondershow. Quitting was never in question for me." He lets himself lean into the blanketing darkness, pressing his face into Rui's shoulder where his cardigan is soft and the emanating warmth is comforting and safe. "God, I don't even know why I'm crying."
Rui chuckles, and Tsukasa feels the faint vibrations of it rumble soothingly through his body.
"There's nothing shameful about crying, Tsukasa-kun. It just means you feel, isn't it?"
A hand reaches out to cup his head, running calloused fingers through his hair, warm and grounding. Tangible. Real.
"It's how you know you're loved."
The day before he's cleared to return to school, he takes the time to dig through the old boxes at the back of his closet, riffling through the sheet-covered objects with a dogged sort of determination. He finds the toy eventually; a lion plush that peeks out at him, tucked away into the depths of the closet with old costumes and other well-loved toys.
The colours of the worn cloth faded, stitches worn and uneven, he trails his hands over its uneven stuffing, with a stunned sort of speechlessness making him unable to do much more than stare.
Tsukasa remembers those quiet afternoons now; a tiny plush clung tightly in his hands, accompanying him through the hours spent pouring over self-written scripts, propped up against a flower vase as he practised his lines—those warm afternoons spent sewing patterns into soft cotton, shows practised to perfection, past the ash and the crippling solitude, before everything had given way.
He'd forgotten the quiet contentment of those days; consumed by the nature of his want, of everything he'd fallen short of, and—
"Onii-chan?" A voice calls out from behind him.
Tsukasa jumps, nearly loosing his grip on the toy.
"Saki!" He blinks. "Were you looking for me?"
"Yeah, you promised yesterday to help me with my game, didn't you?" Saki grins, though it's apologetic at the edges after her unintentional scare.
"Oh, right!" He nods. "Just give me a moment to tidy up a bit. I'll be right there."
"Take your time, there's no rush!" Saki shakes her head, shooting a glance at the plush in his hands instead. "Better yet, what's that?"
She reaches her hand out as though to dislodge it from his grasp, and he can't quite help the way he unconsciously jerks it out of sight at once. At that, Saki stills, a frown edging into her expression, though she doesn't move closer. "Onii-chan?"
"Ah..." he starts awkwardly, before bulldozing through the discomfort and forcing himself to hand the plush to Saki. "It's nothing bad," he explains. "Just an old lion plush I was looking for. It's pretty old by now."
Saki's eyes light up with recognition at once. "Oh, this is Onii-chan plush!" She beams delightedly, clutching onto the toy with gentle hands, mindful of its fragile stitches as she traces its wobbly smile. "I remember how you'd carry this around all the time!"
There's an innocent delight in her voice, present where it'd been absent all those years ago when she'd first set her eyes on the toy. Hands clenching involuntarily, he offers a smile he's sure could be classified as more of a grimace, swallowing down all the words he wants to scream, that burning desire to ask, why now? Just what changed from all those years ago?
"Yeah," is all he says in the end. Stilted and quiet, as he forces his hands to unclench. "I made it myself."
Saki's head snaps up, and her eyes are wide and bright.
"You did?" She gapes, voice laced with wonder as she traces the stitches with a new sort of appreciation. "That must've been years ago! That's... That's amazing, Onii-chan! Why didn't you ever make more?"
Because it hadn't been enough to make you smile.
Because it made you hate me.
He hesitates, letting the silence speak for itself. He isn't sure how exactly to answer, and maybe the truth is that he doesn't quite know himself what the answer would even be. It wasn't Saki's fault she didn't remember; it hadn't even been a moment of intentional cruelty.
They'd been kids. Saki, sick and hurting, wanting nothing more than to be out of the hospital. It'd just been unfortunate timing, not a slight against him, no matter how much it had hurt in that moment to have been rejected, no matter how much it still hurt to have the moment written off as an afterthought, to the point where it was clear Saki had long since forgotten just how the plush had come about.
There had been many, many moments like that back in those lonely, lonely days. He wonders just why the plush had mattered so much then, if maybe it had all just been in his head. They'd just been kids. It hadn't been any of their faults, just an unfair situation all around.
"I just didn't feel like it."
What good would it be to dredge up old memories? He manages a smile, staring at the plush as he lets his shoulders relax, scratching sheepishly at his cheek. "It felt more productive and enjoyable to plan shows and write scripts. I had a lot of time."
Still, despite his efforts of feigned nonchalance, the words read like a confession, aching and quiet. And perhaps it is, just a little bit. He's never said it like that before, hadn't let himself considered it to be anything but fine.
"It must've been lonely," Saki says simply, and then looks back at the plush in her arms. There's a muted sort of energy in her motions that makes him want to curl his shoulders in. "What's its name?"
The innocuous questions makes something in his stomach twist in knots.
Still, he pushes past the discomfort, offering the name. "Miku."
"...Miku?"
Inexplicably, Saki's face seems to soften at once. "Miku-chan, huh?" she says, genuinely fond. "That's a good name. It fits."
She smiles down endearingly at the lion plush in her hands, running her fingers through worn fabric, before offering the plush back to him. Even from here, he sees the way it seems to smile back with stars in its eyes.
"Still, I'm glad Miku-chan was there, Onii-chan. With everything that happened... how lonely it must've been at times, she was there for you as a friend, at least."
("Before I was everyone else's, I was Tsukasa-kun's.")
The phantom brush of a hand on his cheek, laughter by his ear, a reminder—you are not alone.
He exhales shakily, taking the plush with shaking hands.
You are so, so loved.
"Yeah," he agrees.
He realises now that he doesn't ever want to forget that—not anymore.
In some ways, it's almost like he never left. Practice goes smoothly, and like pieces of a puzzle fit together, he eases back into the routine of performing without much difficulty or transitionary awkwardness.
Today, like all other days since he first rejoined the troupe, is sunny. Laughter floats amicably through the syrupy afternoon heat. Voices meld sweetly with each other, mellifluous and light. The easy companionship of it is comforting.
Tsukasa smiles from his spot on the bench, watching as Rui, eyes lit up with manic glee and sat cross-legged on the stage, fixes up a robot. Close by, Nene practices her lines, swinging her legs amicably over the edge of the stage as she swipes irritably at the sweat on her brows. In the distance, Emu performs her routine, somersaulting and cartwheeling around the park with sheer delight on her face and radiating unbridled joy.
For a moment, that's all there is to the warm afternoon—soft voices, punctuated by the occasional sounds of gleeful laughter, and the presence of his friends that is comforting as it is grounding. He's missed this, he realises, and he lets the gratitude of being back infect his good mood.
"Oi, Emu!" he yells, raising a water bottle to the air. "Drink up, it's warm outside!"
"Coooooming!" Instantly, he finds Emu plopping down next to him, making grabby hands at the water bottle that he gladly relinquishes. She takes huge, hulking gulps of water, before leaning her head onto his shoulder. Strands of wet hair press into his arms, and her sweaty bangs dampen the fabric of his shirt. Tsukasa grimaces at first, before he lets his expression settle into a look of mild exasperation.
"Done for the day?" He smiles, rather amusedly.
"Nope!" Emu chirps brightly, raising her head to grin at him. "Just taking a break!"
He laughs. "And you taking a break means smushing your face all over my shoulder?"
"Mn! Talking to Tsukasa-kun is the best way to take a break!"
"Eh?" He blinks, taken aback. The surprise colouring his tone genuine, he starts, and then falters. "But I'm no good to talk to right now? I'm sure there are better conversation partners elsewhere."
It's a truthful statement, one with no ill will or even the faintest traces of bitterness, but when Emu pushes herself away from his shoulders to glare right at him, he finds himself gaping back in alarm. "Emu? Is there something wrong?"
Locked in a statemate, for a moment, neither of them respond. Then, Emu seems to slouch. The rare grimace on her face deepens as she closes her hand around a fistful of fabric over her heart.
"Tsukasa-kun was feeling fuyo fuyo for a long time, wasn't he?" she says quietly, as her grip tightens, knuckles white from the tension.
"...Fuyo fuyo?" He finds his voice hoarse, though no less surprised, still completely at a loss on what to do.
Emu nods rapidly. He's only seen that look on her face once before, on a ferris wheel with amber light spilling into the cabin. Back then, she had frowned in the exact same way; a pained expression on her face, lost and forlorn, as though she'd lost a battle before it had even begun.
"Sad," Emu clarifies, before loosening her grip to reach out for his hands, interlocking their fingers together. "It was wrong, wasn't it? We were wrong to have made you stay away from Wondershow. Not when we knew... not when I knew just how much Wondershow meant to you."
The explanation comes across as completely absurd. Tsukasa finds himself shaking his head vehemently before Emu even finishes talking, insisting with a righteous sort of fury, "It wasn't your fault, Emu! It wasn't any of your faults. I know you guys just wanted the best for me!"
"It doesn't mean it wasn't painful, Tsukasa-kun." Emu squeezes their hands tighter, willing him to listen, to understand. "It doesn't mean you didn't feel hurt by us. There were better ways to have gotten you to take care of yourself than to forcefully distance you away from what you love."
The knowing reflected in Emu's gaze, reminiscent of Miku's own, makes him flinch. It digs right into the marrow of his soul, the root of the issue tugging right at the inherent vulnerability he can't help but want to retreat from.
"It was," he says finally, perhaps for the first time, acknowledging it. "It was painful."
Even as the words make his gut twist with guilt, a bittersweet ache taking residence in the empty chasm of his lungs, he closes his fingers around Emu's own and holds her closer, refusing to let go.
"But I'm here now," he whispers. "And despite everything, you guys are still here."
"Silly," Emu whispers right back, smile oddly subdued, without any of her usual excitement or brightness, or any big gestures at all. There's a solemnity that lines that curve of her lips, as she says, "Of course we are, Tsukasa-kun."
"—which means you better not do something stupid and disappear like that again, idiot."
"Hey." He scowls as Nene comes up to them from behind, throwing a light punch to his shoulder as she glances askance with dusted cheeks.
"Aw, Nene-kun," Rui chuckles bemusedly, following closely behind her. "Did you really miss Tsukasa-kun that much?"
"What?" Nene gapes, clearly flustered. "As if! Who exactly missed that idiot, idiot?" she snaps.
"Right, of course," Rui snorts, shooting her a look of utter amusement. "My mistake then, oh ice queen with a frozen heart. I'm sure you weren't worried at all."
"That—! You...! " Nene flushes deeper, sputtering. Unable to quite meet any of their eyes, she lets her voice trail off instead. Rui only laughs as he pulls her closer, and without any further protest, settles both their hands over Tsukasa's and Emu's linked palms.
Looking down at everyone's interlinked hands, Emu is the first to speak.
"The four of us will always stick together, okay?" she says with quiet, urgent insistence, voice barely louder than the distant bustle of the amusement park. "We promised to bring smiles to everyone, which means we have to smile too."
And when Tsukasa looks, he finds in Emu's gaze a reflection of amber light scintillating through tempered glass, something fragile and timeless, an eternity of hope trapped in a single instance. Emu turns to him with knowing in her eyes—an inherent understanding there that had united them both, even when they'd been strangers before.
What she had seen in him, and what he'd realised when he'd stared back at her with wide eyes in the cabin of a ferris wheel following the aftermath of their fall-out, the realisation that perhaps some part of them both had always felt stifled; drifting, aimless, a vague restlessness in their veins as they reached out and hoped, had wanted—
I want to make people happy.
I want everyone to be happy.
Maybe then, I'll be allowed to chase happiness, and I will deserve to smile. Maybe then, I can be deserving of my want.
"Are we allowed?" he asks quietly.
Emu's shoulders stiffen in surprise, smile faltering. Nene frowns, and Rui very carefully stills.
"Allowed to what?" He probes carefully for an answer.
"Are we allowed to be happy? Just like that?"
The words feel like a condemnation. Like guilt and sorrow, perhaps even a sense of loss for what could've been. The reality he's yet to fully face, just how lonely those days marked by uncomfortable hospital chairs and empty dining rooms had been; the whispering echoes of doctors and machines undercut by dimming spotlights and a veil draping shut.
To acknowledge the chasm in his chest that made the distance so hard to breach, the ache that was almost unbearable, felt almost selfish, something too good to be true. Before, the answer he'd found had only ever been sacrifice—in order to find strength, in order to make them happy. Tsukasa doesn't quite know what comes next.
"Since when do we owe our happiness to anyone?" The response comes, in a tone of righteous indignation and fury, by Nene. "Yes, we're allowed to be happy just like that, you idiot. We don't have to do anything for anyone! If the people you care for can't be happy when you're happy, then they didn't really deserve you in the first place!"
He blinks, flabbergasted and momentarily speechless, at the expression on Nene's face. Wide eyed at the look of complete surety in her eyes, head held high with pride, he sees abruptly, in those flickers of righteous determination, a girl who'd been hurt once upon a time; who'd come out stronger on the other side.
"We're humans. If we had to be allowed to feel selfish or upset or happy, then would any of us have truly lived? Isn't that such a painful way of experiencing life?"
And he can't quite figure out how to say it, the starburst of emotions, formless and unable to be communicated just yet, that fills the cavity in his lungs, that suddenly makes it all so devastatingly real.
I'm sorry, he thinks, except that isn't quite right. He doesn't understand, not really, not yet; but it's a buoyant feeling, this warmth in his heart, fragile and light. It's a thought he holds close to him and wants to protect.
"Thank you." Tsukasa smiles instead, and the edges of his lips curl into something genuine and entirely real. "For being there. For everything."
It feels like a homecoming. Laughter in the air, warm hands settled over his own, a reminder, a promise.
He tugs his friends closer, holding them tight.
He finds a note one day, half-tucked away in the depths of his drawer, the bottom of which had not seen the light in years.
Buried beneath old sock puppets and crumpled drafts of performance scripts—a piece of paper carefully folded, though creased from the number of times spent folding and unfolding it; the neat, unobtrusive words of a boy who'd been lonely. He'd given up the world to make his precious people happy.
'This note belongs to Tenma Tsukasa.'
A lion plush watches him, perched delicately on his bed. There is a knowing gleam in its eyes he now understands intrinsically—the way he chased laughter and smiled with mirthless joy, the fleetingness of it, empty in its nature.
"Tsukasa-kun."
He turns, catching the gentleness in his friend's eyes.
"How many times has it been?" he asks wryly, smile tired but no less fond.
Miku walks forward slowly. A question lingers on her lips as she sets her hands over his own, even as her fingers slip through, intangible and fleeting.
"I'll ask as many times as it takes," she says simply.
Because he will never stop wanting—and maybe there's hope in that too. That gentle, cathartic feeling of release; a selfish desire to be seen, to be able to cry out: please help me.
"Ask away. I promise I won't say 'I don't know' this time."
The age-old wisdom in Miku's eyes gentles, crinkling into a smile. She's honest in ways he isn't, and patient, despite the many times he'd tried to push her away. Even now, she offers that same gentle kindness to him, asking quietly, "Are you happy, Tsukasa-kun?"
Tsukasa holds a crumpled note in his hands, fingers tucked around warm palms—and there is a world out there that waits for him still, a wonderland filled with dreams and laughter, with the people he loves, beyond the grey room with tucked away boxes and a shimmering blue veil.
He's happy. It's not a lie anymore.
Maybe not everyday, but that's part of living, isn't it? That's the beauty of being human. He's here now, despite everything. He's alive. He's so, so happy to be alive.
"I'm happy," he says, with nothing but honesty. It's enough. It'd always been enough. He understands that now, more than ever before.
And Miku laughs and laughs and laughs, her expression collapsing into a look of teary relief.
"I'm glad." The gleam in her eyes is fever bright. "I'm really, really glad."
Because you are loved.
What a fallible thought, he thinks, to love and be loved in return; beautiful and flawed and yet inherently alive—and isn't there something so human about that?
He's had the answer all along. Despite everything, the answer had only ever been love.