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On the first day of his character study, Tsukasa stumbles into Emu.
No, that's not a complete description. Tsukasa stumbles into empty space, and Emu meets him there with arms tight with wiry muscle, hands catching him by the forearms and elbows. She looks startled even as she's doing it, like her grip on him was the natural conclusion of her body rather than any conscious thought.
“Wah!” She cries. “You're all wibbly wobbly there, Tsukasa-kun! Are you okay?”
“Sorry about that, Emu,” Tsukasa breathes, taking care not to grit his teeth. He offers her a smile, difficult to pull but easier when he looks at her. “I'm just feeling a bit dizzy.”
It really is… a challenge, to keep moving over his body's protests. He understands that much better now, more intimately than he ever guessed he would.
Emu stares at him for a moment longer, and then abruptly declares, “I’m going to keep pace with you today!”
That makes him blink, before protesting, “Emu, the best effect comes from keeping your ideal spee—”
“Then I’ll make circles!” Emu cuts in firmly, brightly. “I’ll run a loop around you whenever I need to keep my pace up, how’s that?”
“It sounds like you’re going to make yourself dizzy,” says Tsukasa uncertainly, but there’s no real time to argue any further. Emu has her face fixed in a stubborn look that he hasn’t had to figure out how to work around, and if he doesn’t break into a jog again soon this entire activity will be pointless.
So he runs, Emu beside him.
She does, in fact, loop him several times. He doesn’t have the presence of mind to notice it beyond pink moving from one corner of his vision to the other. But he does notice it. He doesn’t need to think to notice something as obvious as Emu being kind.
Tsukasa risks shutting his eyes briefly in the last stretch of the run, just as the gates of Phoenix Wonderland come into view. His stomach cramps in scary unison with the fall of his eyelids, and he concentrates on keeping a steady breath out.
Emu catches his elbow when he does. He lets her.
It’s the first day. It’s only the first day.
.
.
On the second day the bell rings for lunch, and Tsukasa finds Rui waiting outside his classroom before he can think of running.
He hadn't thought he'd need to, see. Most of the time Rui meets him directly on the roof, or more rarely Tsukasa is pointed to 2-B to snap him out of the work haze he'd slipped into. Tsukasa is not shy with love and Rui is surely used to Tsukasa finding him. He'd thought, if he did nothing, he might be left alone.
But Rui is waiting for him at the door, eyes zeroed in on him with his director's focus, and Tsukasa doesn't think he can handle it right now.
It's disgraceful to run. But this morning has been… trying, with the way his stomach has eaten away at his thoughts. There's a current of irritability under Tsukasa's skin, that clenched his jaw so tight his gums ached when his neighboring desk snuck some pocky during math. If he goes up to the roof with Rui, has to hear him crinkle the wrapper of a rice ball or watch him tear bread or flick ramune candy into his mouth or, or—
Tsukasa is very scared he's going to start yelling.
“Sorry, Rui!” he smiles apologetically, pressing his hands together. “There's a reference book I wanted to check out in the library. Go without me today?”
Rui does his familiar scan, head to toe and back again up to Tsukasa's eyes. His mouth rests naturally with slight upturns on either side, but the faint line between his brows tells the truth—it's a maintenance inspection.
“What book?”
“Ah,” Tsukasa doesn't stumble. Rui always asks, which is why he'd offered a partial truth in the first place. “This one article I read speculated that the Happy Phoenix playwright might have drawn inspiration from a particular collection of—”
“Short stories,” Rui fills in, eyes glinting recognition. “I think I may have read the same. Saeki Naoto?”
“Exactly.” Tsukasa nods, amused and relieved in equal measure. “Then, I'll see you after school?”
He takes a step to the side to begin to move around him, only for Rui to mirror him, blocking his path.
”...Rui?”
Rui's hands are a little forward—barely, at about a ten degree angle, like he'd begun to reach and thought better of it. He parts his lips, but it's another moment before Tsukasa hears words.
“I'm rather interested in that book as well,” he finally says.
The unspoken request makes an odd mix of reluctance and guilt and warmth curdle in Tsukasa's empty belly. Rui doesn't ask for things lightly—tends to operate in easy demands and expectant looks wherever he can. Maybe he wants to be considerate. Maybe he thinks Tsukasa will turn him away.
Tsukasa's next line here should be, Let's go together, then!
It doesn't leave his lips. He leaves the two of them stuck in a frozen few seconds where he says nothing at all, as stagnant as he's been since this trying week started. And yet Rui doesn't take the cue to retreat as someone else might—for all that he walks and talks in circles sometimes, Rui never leaves.
“I'm not good company, right now,” Tsukasa admits. “As in… at all.”
“It's lucky that the library isn't the best place for conversation, isn't it?”
Rui never leaves, and Tsukasa doesn't find he wants him to. And with as little energy as he has, Tsukasa has even less to deny himself Rui.
“Have you eaten?” he asks. Food and drink are prohibited in the library—one of the main traits that make it so attractive as his refuge today.
But, Rui twitches. He's clearly not in the same boat—with dark circles of identifiable size, Tsukasa would bet everything that he stumbled out of bed five minutes before he had to leave and skipped bre—
“Yes,” Rui interrupts his thoughts as he turns not-quite around in invitation. “I skipped fourth period.”
“What? Why?” Tsukasa blinks widely as they fall into step together. “At least pick one or the other!”
Rui looks intrigued. “What's the other?”
“Breakfast,” he replies impatiently. “To get in on time, right?”
“Oh.” He blinks. “Good guess.”
“Thank— you're trying to distract me,” Tsukasa huffs, reaching out to poke at Rui's sternum.
“As I too was distracted, Tsukasa-kun,” Rui shakes his head solemnly. “Isn't it a greater kindness to take responsibility and excuse oneself than it is to insult an instructor by dozing in their class?”
Tsukasa raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “So you excused yourself?”
“No,” Rui smiles. “But isn't it a greater kindness?”
Tsukasa isn't quick enough to stop the involuntary huff of laughter, but he musters exasperation nonetheless. “Rui!”
“That aside,” Rui shakes his head decisively. “Your concerns are assuaged—I snacked. No need for undue stress. There was nothing else to it besides that.”
“The fact that you specify that much really isn't reassuring.” Tsukasa tilts his head in trepidation. “Should I ask?”
“That might invite a rather energetic conversation,” Rui replies blithely, smiling. “And seeing as you’re running low on that right now…” He lifts his hand in a clear stop.
Despite himself, it draws another huff from Tsukasa's lips, and he feels his face relax a smidge as they continue to walk. Rui goes to put his hand down when something on his sleeve catches Tsukasa's eye.
“Ah, you've got—” He catches Rui's wrist before it falls, scrutinizing the starchy white sleeve. “Your button's on the brink of falling right off.”
“Oh?” Rui tugs his hand away from Tsukasa to look at the dangling white thread for himself. “So it is.”
Tsukasa clicks his tongue as they continue walking, speeding up a little. “Just hold it in place for now until we get to the library.”
“It's really not such an urgent problem,” Rui waves his hand down.
“My kit's in my pocket, Rui,” Tsukasa raises an exasperated brow at him. “It's about to be even less of a problem.”
Rui's brow is furrowed, mouth half open like he still might protest.
“Look, it's really going to bug me,” Tsukasa insists, mouth twisting. “Let me fix it, all right?”
Rui closes his mouth, expression smoothing out into a familiar evaluating look. “Alright then,” he acquiesces after a moment with a side tilt of his head, and it's left at that.
They find themselves a corner table at the library, tucked between two shelves. Tsukasa turns his chair to face Rui beside him, taking the kit in hand. From within it he retrieves a little spool of white thread and begins to unwind it. At the same time, he nods impatiently at his own lap, and though Rui huffs an amused laugh, he obligingly puts his hand down to rest on Tsukasa's thighs.
Satisfied with the length of the thread, Tsukasa taps a small needle out of its case and into his waiting palm.
Trying to focus on the tiny silver head of the needle rings his skull like a struck gong, and Tsukasa swallows down a wave of nausea just to pull the white thread through. It doesn't bode well.
“Tsukasa-kun?” Rui whispers library-soft, because of course it must have shown on his face.
“It'll be quick,” Tsukasa murmurs back, voice tighter than he means.
He hates working tired for good reason—for all that he can push himself through, there are always uncontrollable moments where the body staggers, stumbles, stutters. He didn't realize that hunger on this level would feel so similar: the thin needle feels so much more uncertain between his fingers.
But he can make it work. He can.
He plucks the loose button up between two fingers and begins work. The starting stitch, an efficient in-out from beneath the cuff and over Rui's wrist just to get the needle in place, is simple, and he begins to relax again, moving for the next, when—
A tremor spasms through his hand, and he lets go of a sharp hiss as the needle bites deep into his finger.
Rui’s hand jolts in alarm in his lap. “Tsukasa—!”
“It's fine,” Tsukasa insists hastily as he hurries to drop the needle on the table and examine the offense. The point barely drew blood—just a single scarlet bead that wells on his fingertip. It disappears near-instantly under his handkerchief.
When was the last time Tsukasa pricked himself while sewing? Is this also Rio's doing? Rendering him incompetent at even the things he could do in his sleep?
Rui has already begun to tug the thread back out of his sleeve, pulling away to reach towards the needle on the table to unthread that as well. He’s already turned away, halfway through his decision. “Look, I think this—”
“Rui.”
Tsukasa nearly flinches at the slash of frustration in his own voice. Turns out he doesn't need crinkling wrappers to snap at Rui, because he's gone and managed to do it all by himself.
He peeks up at Rui's expression from under his lashes, not quite willing to raise his head all the way, and the concern he finds there pricks at his shame.
It pricks, but even still…
“I can do this,” he says—more quietly, a rope of tension still squeezing tight around the words. “Just… Let me do this, okay?”
Rui says nothing. But, a few seconds later, his hand comes to rest in Tsukasa's lap again.
Tsukasa's breath rushes out of his nose. He picks up the needle with renewed focus, reaches for Rui's sleeve, and works in silence.
The button is mended in under a minute and a half. He shuts the offending needle back into his kit, tossing it lightly to the table and out of his sight.
Rui doesn’t pull his hand away yet. Tsukasa can't help but stare down at it, focusing on this single spot of warmth just above his knee as he thinks.
He thinks about his deteriorating movements, the betrayal in his own fingers. He thinks of this tightness he can't get rid of, irritated as a baseline. He thinks finally of hunger, of the way hunger has seeped into his person less as a sensation and more as a way of being, its primary tenets a coil of frustration and helplessness sharp enough to prick tears at his eyes.
He thinks of all these things that he's forced himself to experience. Grips them tight in his throat.
“Rui,” he calls softly, looking up. He finds Rui watching him still, patient yellow. “Your lines in act 3, could you…?”
“Of course.”
“You're being rude.” Rio's lines spill from Tsukasa's lips. “I thought you were the one who didn't like convention.”
“I deal in oddities, not impossibilities,” the eccentric crow replies, dismissal in every inch of his tone. “And it's very clear which one this particular choice is.”
“It's not a choice!” Tsukasa clenches his fists. “It's never been a choice! If you can't understand even that much, then just get out of my way!”
It's much quieter than it should be, owing to their location. And it still isn't perfect—it's the wrong approach to focus so fully on Rio's suffering, and he needs to translate it to a Phoenix scene. But the echo in his ears finally slots into something satisfying.
Tsukasa blinks, and Rui's eyes are shrewd and bright.
“That sounded good,” Rui observes, voice even. “Did something click?”
It's a step forward smaller than a centimeter, but Tsukasa clutches it with greedy hands.
“I think so,” Tsukasa confirms, breathing out a moment—it’s something, it’s something, you got something—before gently knocking the back of Rui's hand with his own. “Thanks. And… Sorry for snapping at you.”
“It's alright,” Rui is too quick to say. “But, Tsukasa-kun, isn't this…”
He trails off uncharacteristically, looking more troubled than Tsukasa's ever seen him, and his promise from two days ago plays in Tsukasa's mind.
“If I think it's getting dangerous, then I'll step in.”
Tsukasa swallows. You can't, he wants to protest—not now, not when he’s finally moving, not when he's still only inched forwards. What would be the point otherwise?
“I can do this,” he says again, insistent.
Please let me do this.
There's a tiny hitch in Rui's breath, so close to inaudible Tsukasa wonders if he imagined it. Rui holds his gaze for a long moment, mouth set in a thin line and hand tense where he left it resting on Tsukasa's knee, and Tsukasa can only hold his breath for the verdict.
Trust me!
Finally, Rui lets out a slow, slow exhale, shoulders slumping very slightly before he speaks.
“...Thanks for fixing it for me.” He lifts his arm to tap at his own sleeve.
Tsukasa blinks rapidly—this time, when tears prick at his eyes and his heart squeezes tight, it has nothing to do with frustration and everything to do with a surge of gratefulness that makes him want to grab Rui's hand all over again simply to hold it to his chest.
Relief, exhaustion, gratefulness, irritation. Tsukasa clutches all of them close, letting them pour out in the easiest smile of the day.
“Of course!”
.
.
Even still.
Tsukasa likes to think that he understands Rio better than ever. He understands Rio, feels a part of Rio taking root in him and telling him this is how I felt so intimately he could hate it. And yet, when he tries to act, to deliver, to bring Rio to life—
Tsukasa's key understanding is this: when there is nothing to be done, there is frustration. But it’s the frustration of stagnancy. It’s a frustration that you can stave off with comfort, with cool piano keys and an eye on the phone. It simmers like a pot on close to no flame, simply sitting there to be attended to—later.
Rio’s frustration is not stagnancy, Tsukasa realizes. Rio’s frustration is this:
First—a day that goes scarily quick. The hunger is barely noticeable when he is so wholly distracted by other things, but then the sun begins to set and he realizes that nothing has changed besides the hunger. He feels so exhausted, and surely he has worked hard all day but there is nothing to show for it. Did time always move this fast? If a day is a blink, will a week be a breath?
Second—a day of split attention. What was once satisfied with water scoffs at his paltry attempts to silence it. His stomach clenches and groans like a beast that feels separate from himself, like parts of his own body are splitting from him simply to fight. His every motion gains a desperation that feels—that feels right, like he might finally be getting somewhere. Phoenix blinks at him when they finish their scene together. But then she looks away.
Third—a day. He can ignore the pangs so easily it’s shameful—what does it say about his progress, that he’s simply adapted, that this is all normal? So unmentionable that he'd barely noticed the day pass until he crumpled at his desk? He'd have something to say if he succeeded, but he hasn't, the sun moves towards the west yet he hasn’t moved at all, even though the goal is right there—!
All this to say.
Tsukasa knows the bitterness of having nothing he can do. Rio lives the bitterness of knowing exactly what he can do, putting everything on the line for it, and falling short.
Tsukasa bows after evening practice and goes home, feeling Rio’s bitterness curling in his chest and pressing against his rib cage like an animal in too-small captivity, and yet it is not enough. Tsukasa scrunches his eyes shut before any tears can escape, pouring the sickness into his lines, and even still it is not enough.
Rio clenches his fist around Tsukasa’s stomach and saps the strength from Tsukasa’s limbs until it takes all his focus simply to smile, and it is still, still: not enough.
.
.
But, there's means.
“Why don't we think this through, one more time?”
.
.
There's a breakthrough.
Tsukasa's friends stand around him, like his own private walls shutting out the rest of the hall. They don't pay a single second's attention to the bustle around them, and even as he struggles to pull himself together Tsukasa aches with affection so strong his chest might burst.
“Tsukasa-kun,” says Rui's voice. “Did you find your phoenix?”
.
.
They’re all smiling.
.
.
And finally, Tsukasa's ears are ringing, and his stomach is full.
The entirety of the Phoenix Stage troupe doesn’t take much more than a fifth of their audience seats—not nearly the kind of crowd to cause a roar. But even still, his ears ring with it. It’s even more obvious now in the quiet of the Wonder Stage changing rooms, where the only sound is the shuffling of Rui moving from the other side of the room.
Tsukasa’s fingers are steady as they button his shirt.
He thinks he's watched every online rendition of Happy Phoenix there is. He'd called to mind those lines countless times, testing their feeling for anything at all he could use. Even Amami Seiichi's performance, as long ago as it was, he tried to cling to. There was practically no memory of it left beyond its dazzle, but even still Tsukasa had used those scattered pieces for his own judgment.
And yet, is it self-centered? They've all faded now, and the only voice he can hear is his own.
“Tsukasa-kun?”
Blinking out of his thoughts, he turns with an easy smile. “Hm?”
Rui’s standing by one of the lockers, tilting his head. He’s already changed into his sweater, stage coat draped loosely over his arm and pressed shirt discarded haphazardly over the bench. Tsukasa restrains the urge to click his tongue at it, instead shifting his attention to Rui’s face. His expression is…
Oh! Tsukasa’s not sure how to describe this one. It’s a smile that’s just so uniquely Rui—that slight curve in his mouth, that looseness in his brows, and that complete openness in his eyes, like he’s let himself forget other people can peer inside.
It’s a pretty deadly look of his. And Tsukasa hasn’t had many chances to look at Rui properly in the past few days, so it's even deadlier now. Grinning wide, he prompts again, “What, what is it?”
“Well,” Rui's eyebrows rise a little, but his smile is fond. “You were staring so blankly at nothing, I wondered if you'd shorted out.”
The teasing bounces harmlessly off Tsukasa's bubble of euphoria, and he smiles wider as he knocks gently on his own head, playing along. “Maybe! I might've felt sparks in there.”
He gets a brief blink, the only thing that betrays Rui's surprise before he recovers. “Oh? Would you like the opinion of your resident mechanic?”
He's moving before Tsukasa can answer, sleeve falling back as he reaches forward with his free hand to touch, light and inquisitive around Tsukasa's temples. Tsukasa exhales a laugh, leaning indulgently forward.
“Hm,” Rui intones after a moment, fingertips lingering. “Everything appears to be in order, for how little there is.”
“Oi.” Tsukasa tries to make an offended face, but finds he can't quite stop himself from laughing again.
One side of Rui's mouth stretches further up, hand drifting down to tap gently at the smile crease in Tsukasa's cheek. “Are you still on your high?”
“I think I'm physically incapable of being angry right now.” Tsukasa nods seriously. “Give me your best shot! I'm untouchable.”
“I'll have to decline the challenge,” Rui chuckles, drawing away. “The effects of that performance were contagious, you see.”
Tsukasa blinks, before a grin breaks across his face all over again. The stretch of it is almost painful at this point. “Are you happy, Rui?”
Rui drops his hand over the arm holding his draped coat, smile still playing on his lips. “Very much so.”
“I see.” Tsukasa puts his hands on his hips, head pleasantly blank of any meaningful comment, because what else is he supposed to say to that? “I see!”
“What was it that's still occupying you?” Rui pushes, smile relaxing and eyes alert. “Contemplation's not usually a symptom of euphoria.”
“Oh!” Tsukasa thinks back for a second, almost having forgotten. “It wasn't anything too important—I was just thinking that I really wish Amami Seiichi's Rio had been recorded.”
Rui pauses briefly, clearly caught a bit off guard. “Oh?”
“It's like this, you know.” Tsukasa crosses his arms, shutting his eyes tight as he tilts his head back in thought. “His performance was undoubtedly my ideal Rio. But it's been so long that— ah, you know when you can't remember something, and your mind tries to fill in the gaps with things you do remember?”
“Overlaying connected contexts, yes.”
Tsukasa nods. “So I was trying to remember his performance, just now. But, in the gaps, I picture—” Suddenly conscious of what he's about to say, he abruptly shuts his mouth, feeling a slight flush creep up his cheeks.
Rui, of course, does not let that slide. “You picture what?”
“Well,” Tsukasa shoves himself on. “I… hear my own lines.”
Rui blinks.
“And… I don't know.” Tsukasa scratches a little awkwardly at his cheek. “It feels sort of good. But I know they weren't the same, so it's like I've lost something I was supposed to be chasing.”
Is that arrogant of me?
“So your ideal has become yourself,” Rui says, one eyebrow raised and a sly smile on his lips. “Very humble of you, leader. I'd expect nothing less.”
“It hasn't!” Tsukasa splutters. “It's a phenomenon, Rui! An observation. Amami Seiichi is still leagues ahead of me, I wouldn't forget that so soo— stop laughing!”
Rui does not, shoulders shaking as he chuckles into his hand, “Where's your untouchability?”
“You could instigate a boulder,” Tsukasa tells him balefully. “And I was being serious, too.”
That brings another huff of laughter, but Rui's eyes drift a little, that way they do when he's evaluating something.
“Do you know, I've seen several productions of Happy Phoenix,” he says, apropos of nothing.
Tsukasa blinks.
“I watched a recording when I first stumbled upon it. And again recently, when they announced this show. No doubt I may watch another as we continue preparation.”
“Well, sure,” Tsukasa agrees, confused.
“You're an actor who's very aware of his own abilities, Tsukasa-kun. I'm sure, even with what you say, you firmly believe Amami's performance years ago was better than your own today.”
“That goes without saying,” says Tsukasa, a little impatient now.
“I wouldn’t argue. But I,” Rui pauses, pulling his arms in to squeeze his coat closer to his own chest. “I'm a director. It's about experiences. And so, at least for me, there will never be another Rio again.”
…What?
“What?” Tsukasa croaks.
“There will never be another Rio again,” Rui repeats, quickly, smoothly, like he can hide the towering impact of the sentence behind the efficient tumble of his tone. “It will always be you, as I saw you today.”
“What?”
Rui averts his eyes, turning to fold his coat onto his locker shelf. “So there's nothing odd about such a performance being a strong memory for you, is what I mean.”
Tsukasa stares blankly at Rui's back. He kind of wants to cry, kind of wants to shove his face in it. It will always be you spins in his head like a canyon echo, and not for the first time he finds himself bowled over by the ways Rui loves.
“You can't just say something like that like it's nothing!” Tsukasa swipes a hand over his eyes. “Turn around!”
He hears a quiet huff before Rui glances obligingly around at him. Tsukasa doesn't bother waiting for him to complete the turn, spinning him the rest of the way and throwing his arms around his neck and back in a hug.
Rui's hands take a moment longer, but then they settle on Tsukasa's back, holding him securely in return.
“Thanks,” Tsukasa says tightly, fingers curling into the soft fabric of Rui’s sweater. “For that, and for this whole week.”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve contributed much,” Rui muses, shoulders stiffening a little.
“And you'd be wrong not to.” Tsukasa gives him a squeeze before pulling back to allow Rui his space again. “I always think I've gotten used to you, and then you're more, somehow.”
“More?” Rui echoes, a mix of lost and amused. His hands hang a little awkward in the air, like he’s forgotten to put them all the way down.
“Yes,” agrees Tsukasa, seeing no further need for elaboration. He smacks a hand to his chest, “Well, I’m not going to lose! What do you need? Do you want to go over your role? What type of actor are you?”
Rui stares at him, clearly caught truly and totally off guard. The stalemate of silence holds for a few more seconds before it’s broken with a chuckle, bubbling from the back of Rui’s throat until he’s laughing properly, filling the room with Tsukasa's favorite sound.
“I’m not nearly proficient enough of an actor to have something like a type,” Rui finally admits when he catches hold of himself. “Nor does my role need so ardent a study.”
“Even still.” Tsukasa crosses his arms, dissatisfied. “At the very least, we can do some readings.”
“It's really—”
“Ah, enough already!” Rio cries, exasperated. “I wasn't even looking for you, so why're you still flying around me?”
The crow narrows his eyes, drawing his posture tall even as a faint smirk spreads across his lips. “What fool would miss out on a spectacle like this?”
“I'm not anyone's show,” Rio seethes, but his tone is preoccupied, most of his focus always, always on Phoenix. “And you of all birds have no room to call me weird.”
“I didn't say anything of the sort,” the crow denies, tone clearly amused. “But I will say that eccentricity is one thing, and this sort of zealousness is another.”
Rio flaps a hand in the air, like he's trying to brush the bird away. He doesn't meet his eyes, already half out of the conversation. It's the second day, and he can't afford the distraction.
But the crow's line still comes, even without a listener.
“No,” he breathes, quieter. “This forest had never seen devotion before you stepped foot in it.”
Rio blinks, and Tsukasa blinks again a second later. Page fifty-six, end of scene.
“I thought you were planning on playing that with a lot less,” —he waves a vague hand— “awe.”
Rui pauses, mouth open as he wets his lips. His jaw works for a second, before setting determined in a way that catches Tsukasa's attention.
“I'm used to injecting a bit of myself in roles,” he says, much gentler than the crow's stretched tone. “Since my priorities are usually too split to play a brand new person without disrespecting the art.”
a bit of myself
Tsukasa's heart stutters, not for the first time.
But Rui isn't done, pulling a measured breath before he says, “and awe comes easy, here.”
…This is new, isn't it? This is going to be different. Something shifts and charges in a way Tsukasa recognises as the cusp of change, the anticipatory pause at the peak of a roller coaster.
“Rui,” Tsukasa lets the praise wash over him, savoring Rui's sincerity, before he asks, “What are you saying?”
He reads Rui easily, hears the echo of hidden intention without issue. But— the air feels oddly fragile, and Tsukasa's not going to let it shatter under anything as clumsy as a guess.
Rui's eyes soften. He reaches out, carefully taking Tsukasa's hands in his own.
“I've been inspired, I think,” he says gently. “There are things worth holding back, and this isn't one of them.”
Tsukasa takes loving Rui for granted, a simple fact of life that burns in his soul alongside his art. And just the same, he takes for granted that it's returned, in these bright laughs, those quiet late night conversations, a sleeve proffered in the library. He'd thought, with easy acceptance, that Rui had been happy to leave it at that. After all, he knows now just how endless the road to his dream is—a moment where he pauses to allow Rui his everything is simply never going to happen. He'd thought that was all there was to it.
But Rui has all but confessed to him twice over in this conversation.
“Are you sure?” Tsukasa can't stop himself from asking. Rui's seen it all now—his fist-clenched frustration, his simmer, his greed when it comes to the things he wants most. “Once it's conveyed— once I have it, I won't let go.”
Rui's thumbs stroke over the bruises on the sides of Tsukasa's palms, growing blue from his audition.
“Neither will I,” says Rui, quiet but firm.
Tsukasa swallows, understanding. He, too, may be tired of hunger.
“Okay,” he says, voice tremulous as it sinks in, smile breaking over his face as euphoria stretches from his chest to suffuse him all over again. “Okay! Can I say it first?”
“The lead even in this,” Rui laughs, eyes bright with anticipation as he watches him. “By all means.”
Tsukasa squeezes Rui's hands tight. Looks up into a yellow promise.
“Rui, I…”