[ His tether mottles with shadow even when he draws nearer. Finally lead out from the alleyway and into the street, Subaru's gaze catches on the bench, the birds and the blooms, Agent Choi being suffocated by the whispers of something even he can't immediately make sense of. Fungal rot blossoms outward in a thieving symphony of shape, latticed and fanning, colors improbable. Contamination, he'd called it. Subaru doesn't know how he feels it but he does feel it, the fleeting silt of being able to touch something but being unable to grasp it in any way that matters.
But because he feels it, he knows their connection is still there. His heart steels over that singular thread of importance as he approaches, more impulse than rationale — instead of letting it fall through his fingers, Subaru seizes his hand.
If Choi is forgetting what shape he takes, Subaru decides to trace his outline by placing it against the sheer willpower of his own.
If this is Sleep's spell, he intends to reverse it. ]
There's something speaking to you. [ He intones, steady and low. His other hand comes to rest against his face, blessedly cool, spiting the blood heat of the moon. ] Shut it out and listen to me. What were you going to say?
[ in a surprising turn of events, just when the agent is afraid he'll be consumed too, his hand meets another. he manages to empty his throat of spores, and the hand of one who's come to meet him brushes against his cheek next. his own skin feels hot and feverish. perhaps it's a symptom of succumbence, or maybe the round moon's influence alone on him, but as disoriented as he is, the cool temperature is grounding. just not enough for recognition to flicker in his eyes as his gaze meets the other's.
what's familiar, again? what is important? the name that had rested on the tip of his tongue is gone, replaced by something else: ]
There's somewhere I have to go.
[ that's right. he was on his way somewhere. there's some place that he needed to reach. a safe place. a smile curves across his lips, strained and stressed, but a glimpse of the person he's supposed to be all the same. the city he perceives, twisted by memories that aren't his own, shudders, but he hangs tight onto what he's certain belongs to him. turns his attention away from the other, towards the chaotic thrum of people in the street. ]
West 22nd street. I shouldn't be sitting around.
[ there's an association that's tugged on in the mycelium web of choi's mind. a picture of a young man with cropped black hair and dark blue eyes. a feeling of being scolded, and the worry he knows to be behind it. but he's fine. he is. he will be. wasn't he? ]
[ His stomach drops as he feels some other presence surge through the tether. Not an intrusion, but something native to it, something vast and opportunistic. It's as if the Murmur is no longer contained by their bond, instead bleeding out into the waiting grasp of the proliferating fungal web they share this city with.
And now, this rot wants Choi. It calls for him, the thinner his recognition for what's real becomes. Whatever threads have hooked into him are carrying his memories away, supplanting them with others that have long since passed. Subaru's gaze flickers upwards, vision doubling as he struggles against the strange, alien current he's accepting into himself also — he sees flashes of it, Manhattan as it was. Vibrant, an unmatched metropolis teeming with life. Manhattan as it became, shrouded by the moon's fall. And...
Manhattan as it is now. Cracked by the teeth of some incredible force, older than the stars. ]
You... [ West 22nd. Blue eyes, juxtaposed across the memory of safety. ] ... were on your way to me.
[ There's no one else here. The streets loom empty and Subaru tries to remind himself of that the further he strains the tether to reach into whatever it is that's trying to wrest Agent Choi away from him. His fingers twitch away from his face, but his opposite hand still holds tight. ]
on the contrary, it welcomes subaru into the interwoven web of memories like a warm embrace, as if inviting him to become a part of it too—little different from agent choi now. maybe that's what makes his voice sound clearer. closer. lighter. it emulates what the conversation might have sounded like under better circumstances. ]
Oh? Lucky me.
[ that smile of his widens slightly, flashing white teeth and sharp canines. someone willing to come all this way just to find little ol' him, it's almost enough to make choi feel bad for worrying him. still, the recognition doesn't settle in, and for all his smiling, it remains guarded. cautious. but there's something, something about this man... for a moment, as they talk, it feels like standing in the eye of the storm—no longer swept away by its winds, but simply watching them rage around himself.
it does feel familiar. ]
... Subaru? Is that your name?
[ he can't recall the face of that person, but he can remember the name, at least. if he really reaches, he can remember why too. a tour underground, trudging through empty subway tunnels with grim curiosity, and a cracked mask that he couldn't imagine letting anybody else pick—had taken for himself. but that feels far away. distant, as if long past. what's happening now is different. is it? there's doubt underlying the thought, but it feels difficult to disprove when it's still happening all around their quiet conversation. the panic, the screaming, and worst of all, the eerie calm that comes with her influence. ]
[ There's so little resistance that it actually pulses through him as subtle alarm. Whatever it is likewise reaching out to him, it's wearing this man's soul to soften the temptation, to make it seem less hostile. To follow him in would almost seem — pleasant? Because it's not as though he's never seen him smile like that, teeth and all. Sharpness, light. But it's not for him. His sense of self, rattling against the force of a looming succumbence, tells him so.
This brief interstice between storm and soul may be his only chance. The truth dances through the contours of his awareness; all he can do is navigate the flow of memory as it whispers in and roars back out. It wasn't the moon, its light red, wet. He gazes into the memory to see that it was darker, closer. So it was the subway...
He should have known better than to let him go so easily.
Warily, he keeps watch for the fungal influence, though he doesn't cast any spells to repel it. With how interwoven it's becoming with his psyche, he can't risk it. Not yet. ]
Yes, it is. [ Subaru pauses, then sits down next to him on the bench. ] Can you tell me...
[ agent choi's demeanour stays casual, even with 'subaru' radiating some sense of urgency. choi glances over to him, ever smiling, and says honestly: ]
I don't like it.
[ tethers. even if he doesn't say the word aloud, subaru might know this—might have guessed through his reluctance, or perhaps read into it with that sharp insight of his. he could even feel it, if he tried. that vulnerability and uncertainty. the association choi holds between it, and risk. the risk of playing into sleep's very desires for them. the risk of losing himself. the risk of becoming contaminated, just like so many hosts before him. ]
But have you noticed?
[ even as he says it, it's still a mess. he can't direct it well, blindly grasping for whatever amongst the stack of scattered memories he can identify as his.
the images flicker through their connected consciousness. first, a striped, blackened arm that ends in what might be better described as a set of claws than fingers. something that subaru can see plainly in the place of the hand opposite of the one he's holding. contrasted against it: children. they stick close to you, an adult, with faces and bodies covered in pus-filled ulcers, infected mermaid 'tails' dragging behind them as they shuffle forward. it's contamination. the recognition is shared between the two of them.
but contamination has never been a solely physical change.
red. red, like the moon that hangs overhead. red, like the blood that stains his teeth and his tongue. red, as it poured from his wrist, and from that person's, and their shoulder, and—and while shame surrounds the memory, it's absent from the scene itself. euphoria. relief. it transitions back to third person—to a smiling, used-to-be-civilian clerk in a supermarket chain that shouldn't exist. they pull a still sane survivor closer, forcing a struggling arm into a blender with blades sharp enough to gut through skin, through muscle, through bone. and they're no different from those children: slowly dying, unable to so much as wish they could leave the sparkling ocean palace they see projected over the ruined remains of a city. in reality, it's little different from their own manhattan.
at least agent choi can still wish to leave. that thought is grasped tightly in his hand. it squeezes around subaru's as if it's his very last lifeline. as if this tether were the only thing that remains between himself and ruin. it might just be.
because maybe... that caution of his was unwarranted, just this once.
he leans back on the bench, his smile fallen and expression thoughtful. disasters, they tend to have a kind of narrative component to them, don't you think? they play on words, on emotions, on memories and experiences and tropes. they're never entirely baseless, or else there would simply be no way to combat them at all. it's the very thing that allowed their destruction king rookie have earned that name in the first place. with excellent logic, you can see what the ending to that story is—you can close that book.
agent choi isn't kim soleum. neither does he want to be. he can't close this book, not yet, but... maybe he can find a meaning in it.
maybe "connection is what makes us human".
he remembers struggling clearly. he remembers the too large moon and the instincts and impulses it's tried to force on him. he remembers the moments the sun sets, not once or even twice, but every night, and the paranoia it brings. he remembers a cautious comfort at sundown, reluctant but trying. holding his hand out to the person beside him. and he remembers, most of all, a sense of clarity and purpose—a weight lifted from his shoulders, a renewed vigor, as he'd stepped back onto charlottes stage.
he remembers feeling human, more so than he has during any of his time here. in that now so far away moment, he rests his head against subaru's shoulder beside him.
[ He's so close. His shoulders may be delicate, but they've already withstood so much. They can also bear this, even if unused to the mete of gentleness; it's the second time he's felt himself relaxing when given the gift of his weight. All at once, Subaru is no longer casting the eye of the storm, but standing in it alongside him. Even as its vortex smears with all manner of memory, running riot and animal red, refusing to be wielded like the cleaver of his memories, it affords a reprieve among its glimpses of horror.
He sees it now, how long he's been struggling against nightfall. Subaru wanted to protect him so badly that he forced the connection in a moment of weakness and desperation. He doesn't know that he can trust this magic any more than Choi can trust the way these feral instincts have metastasized to his humanity.
But he decided long ago — doing something is better than the comfortable safety of doing nothing.
Is it selfish? It must be. Did he know? He must have.
He gazes at his hand clasped to his own, the tension banded brightly in his knuckles. Hands are a language. He knew this as an onmyouji, knows it now as a runecaster. They are the conduit through which words may be conveyed, the arbiters of all emotion, understanding, and human resonance. When he envisions it, a tether, he imagines something he can glance his fingertips off of, something he can touch. Energy he can bend into forms that better suit the cosmic bloom of his will. It's a language he's sought all his life. And it's terrifying in its potential. Hands are instruments of prayer, connection, and unthinkable violence. Subaru's scars burn, even if they remain unseen.
To feel human is to feel the breadth of it, even in the blinding syllables of regret. If Choi doesn't trust what his hands are becoming in the blood-melting presence of her, then Subaru will trust them for him.
Softly, so softly, he places his other hand over Choi's, thumb tracing the little bones beneath this skin.
So, he doesn't like tethers... ]
Do you like me, then?
[ To invoke, to speak, is the other conduit of language. It's how stories survive. ]
[ the soft gesture is clearly foreign to the deeply scarred hand that accepts it. still, agent choi's gaze flickers up at that, trying to meet subaru's. it's such a simple question, and yet, not at all what choi had expected. the laughter he offers in return escapes him all at once, like a breath long held—all air, little voice. exhausted but sincere. ]
Haha! Sure, let's go with that.
[ it doesn't sound wrong.
agent choi does like his kindness—the heart that seems to bleed into his even though he doesn't quite deserve it at a time like this. perhaps he understands that precious, selfless instinct well enough himself, but it's rarely found in others. he likes that sharp thinking of his, but isn't that a necessity for their line of work? he likes his patience, and the way his too-fast world seems to slow down in a shared moment with him. what do they call that, again? theory of relativity, right? he likes sharing cigarettes with him too, and chatting under a moon that hangs far too close for comfort.
so he can say it easily: ]
Yeah. I like you, Subaru.
[ their connection may not have started out as anything special, or even particularly personal. no more than agent choi's instinct to protect him had been. they're both just exactly that kind of person; they can't turn their backs on someone in danger, or in need. is that the kind of situation it was?
in the beginning, maybe. but somehow, it did become important to him—the hand that was held out to him in a lonely place like this. ]
[ That's better. Laughter is better, even if wrung of its intensity by fatigue. Fatigue is also fine. Fatigue, fear, distrust... they can all be overcome with the right touch, if someone is willing to meet him where he stands. It doesn't even have to be halfway. It can just be this: a feeling, a chance, the half-light of his honesty echoing in the radiant dark. ]
I'm glad. [ His touch traces something on the back of Choi's hand. ] Is that why you kept it?
[ Their tether. ]
Even though I thought... it'd be fine. If you snapped it the moment the fighting was over.
[ Instead, it's become what allows him to be here. It's what allows him to find him every time, no matter how maligned the moonlight is. By his side on the bench. Sunken down into the tempestuous flutter of his soul, transmuting the sigil he draws on his hand from the physical to the spiritual. ]
I resolved to let you do that, if that's what you wanted.
[ his gaze lowers, watching the pattern as it's slowly traced against his hand. ]
Hmm, that seems a little cold though?
[ after subaru went through all that trouble for him, enduring the crashing tsunami of agent choi's tumultuous heart. it strikes him as almost a little ungrateful to toss him aside so easily, though his reasons aren't entirely unselfish either.
if there's going to have to be someone at his side to endure through all of this... someone who he places his faith in, just like that blue eyed boy he'd been trying to reach, and someone he trusts well enough to let himself be seen in a moment of weakness like this? it's a tall order, certainly. even now he finds himself hesitant. reluctant.
but if it has to be someone, out of everyone he's met so far... ]
Well, anyway, I was the one who said we should make the most of what we've got.
[ just as he's done tonight, taking advantage of subaru's kind heart. ]
[ Subaru's gaze flicks aside, even if all he can really stare at in his surprise is the top of his head. Little adorns his expression for once; the words catch him off his guard. His own feelings never factored into his decision. Even if it was momentarily painful or caused discomfort, it'd be a small price to pay if it as for him.
...but isn't this always the way? His clumsy words, sowing hurt even now, no matter how good his intentions are. ]
Maybe you're right.
[ Where his fingers slacked in wonder, they now regain some of their strength. Enough to layer the sigils in a flat band of light on his skin. It permeates down through his physical body, into the tether, through bone and blood and delicate synapse. Subaru delivers this pathfinding spell to him deep in the recesses of his soul where all these memories coalesce. He doesn't force it this time. He wants Agent Choi to choose it. ]
If that's so... [ If he likes him enough. ] will you follow me out of this place?
[ Away from the grinning jaws of succumbence, poised like a trap. ]
[ there's a sense of finality to subaru's invitation—something more than welcome to choi by now. after all, jeez, talk about a long day. to call it exhausting would be an understatement. dangerous too, and perhaps the terrifying embrace of succumbence wrapped around him a little more tightly than even he had fully been prepared for, arranging all this. at the same time... he can't say he regrets the choices that have brought him here.
it's just that going back sounds nice right about now. ]
You're gonna keep holding my hand so I don't get lost?
[ there's a playful, teasing lilt to choi's words, straightening himself up and lifting his head from subaru's shoulder. his eyes rest first on his hand—their hands, really, fingers still intertwined. on the slowly fading glow of the sigil that's sunk into his skin. even dissipated he can feel its presence, warm and familiar. then, he turns his attention to subaru, smiling warmly—tiredly. ]
[ Don't wander from him and he won't have to. More of a sentiment, silvery and strong along the line of the tether, than a conscious thought.
A working exorcist's day is never over, it seems. ]
You can try it. That mark I left to you.
[ Once Choi rights himself, Subaru lets go of him with his topmost hand but keeps hold of him with the other. He pushes to a stand in a flutter of his runecast birds, some of which swoop low and then dart off ahead. Paused there, he finally pulls to beckon him up to his feet. Movement shatters some of succumbence's spell, though he can still feel the circling of its miasma, ready to exploit weakness. And weakness thrives here, in wounds, in scars, in the dream-torn faults of this reality.
Subaru hefts the weight of his hand up. ]
If you're having trouble finding your way, invoke it. It'll show you through.
[ Here, in these streets exsanguinated by the moon, or in the close corners of his heart, where all the things he fears and distrusts might actually dwell. All he needs to do is put his hand against the obstacle and watch the way the light works. ]
but choi will allow himself to be pulled up to his feet, giving his legs a stretch and suppressing the yawn that gathers in the back of his throat. it wasn't such a bad nap, but now it's time to return to the waking world and all the responsibilities that come with it, right? so once he listens to subaru's explanation, choi will go ahead and reluctantly disentangle their hands himself. his shoulder still brushes against the other's, but he holds his out in front of him to examine it.
so it's that kind of spell, huh. ]
Okie-dokie.
[ as eloquent as ever in these broken, still burning remains of what manhattan had once been, he'll close his eyes. his hand is still held out, fingers splayed, but this isn't such a physical obstacle that he's facing anyway. rather, in the midst of these memories that don't belong to him, their sorrow and their fear and the eerie sense of peace that still licks at his heels, pulling and inviting him closer, there's something specific he's looking for. a lifeline that no longer feels quite so delicate as it once was.
and if choi wraps his hand around it, following it to its source...
it will guide him back to their manhattan, where he opens his eyes to a city no less broken, but now familiar enough to call his own.
the space at their feet and all around them is clear now of the blooms that had been attempting to embrace him in the dream, but his scar itches, and subaru will see it ringed around his neck: the beginnings of a kind of fungal lace. it's still early yet though—nothing that an absent set of fingernails can't dislodge, and choi looks down with an expression of distaste as he examines the remains. ]
[ Because Choi is standing here with him now, squarely on the desolate pavement of a red-seethed Manhattan. The one that exists now, the real one — whatever it might count for. His sigil did its job, its ink dark and alive, drawing strength from that of their connection. No longer torn in two, oscillating between the conjured pull of memory and the hymn of the moon, Subaru can also breathe easier.
Though his expression does briefly snag on his scar's latticed intruder. He holds his hand out for it. ]
Nah. Well, it's kind of uncomfortable, but that's just from touching it.
[ this scar, it's probably easy to tell just by looking at it that it hasn't healed so well, but he'll place the latticed fungal growth in subaru's hand anyway if that's what he wants. his fingers linger for just a moment as they brush against his skin. then it's a glance to the ink marking the back of his hand, back to subaru, and choi'll reach that hand around to rest on his opposite shoulder, pulling him a little closer.
his grin starts off bright—proud, even. ]
Anyway, I knew I picked the right guy for the job~
[ Jostled close, Subaru's gaze flicks aside, surprise muted but sincere. There's a comfort in it, the weight of his arm and his warmth and the irreverence of it being work, nothing more and nothing less than that — his fingers close around the piece of growth. It then lowers, finality in that action, too. ]
You can call on me anytime.
[ He nudges into his side. ]
We shouldn't stay here long. It's still not safe.
[ And, in leaving behind the bench, in moving forward, a quiet glyph ignites in his palm, burning the growth to ash in his closed fist. Let it be a warning to the rest of it. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
But because he feels it, he knows their connection is still there. His heart steels over that singular thread of importance as he approaches, more impulse than rationale — instead of letting it fall through his fingers, Subaru seizes his hand.
If Choi is forgetting what shape he takes, Subaru decides to trace his outline by placing it against the sheer willpower of his own.
If this is Sleep's spell, he intends to reverse it. ]
There's something speaking to you. [ He intones, steady and low. His other hand comes to rest against his face, blessedly cool, spiting the blood heat of the moon. ] Shut it out and listen to me. What were you going to say?
[ What is familiar? What is important? ]
no subject
what's familiar, again? what is important? the name that had rested on the tip of his tongue is gone, replaced by something else: ]
There's somewhere I have to go.
[ that's right. he was on his way somewhere. there's some place that he needed to reach. a safe place. a smile curves across his lips, strained and stressed, but a glimpse of the person he's supposed to be all the same. the city he perceives, twisted by memories that aren't his own, shudders, but he hangs tight onto what he's certain belongs to him. turns his attention away from the other, towards the chaotic thrum of people in the street. ]
West 22nd street. I shouldn't be sitting around.
[ there's an association that's tugged on in the mycelium web of choi's mind. a picture of a young man with cropped black hair and dark blue eyes. a feeling of being scolded, and the worry he knows to be behind it. but he's fine. he is. he will be. wasn't he? ]
no subject
And now, this rot wants Choi. It calls for him, the thinner his recognition for what's real becomes. Whatever threads have hooked into him are carrying his memories away, supplanting them with others that have long since passed. Subaru's gaze flickers upwards, vision doubling as he struggles against the strange, alien current he's accepting into himself also — he sees flashes of it, Manhattan as it was. Vibrant, an unmatched metropolis teeming with life. Manhattan as it became, shrouded by the moon's fall. And...
Manhattan as it is now. Cracked by the teeth of some incredible force, older than the stars. ]
You... [ West 22nd. Blue eyes, juxtaposed across the memory of safety. ] ... were on your way to me.
[ There's no one else here. The streets loom empty and Subaru tries to remind himself of that the further he strains the tether to reach into whatever it is that's trying to wrest Agent Choi away from him. His fingers twitch away from his face, but his opposite hand still holds tight. ]
That's why I came to find you. Do you remember?
no subject
on the contrary, it welcomes subaru into the interwoven web of memories like a warm embrace, as if inviting him to become a part of it too—little different from agent choi now. maybe that's what makes his voice sound clearer. closer. lighter. it emulates what the conversation might have sounded like under better circumstances. ]
Oh? Lucky me.
[ that smile of his widens slightly, flashing white teeth and sharp canines. someone willing to come all this way just to find little ol' him, it's almost enough to make choi feel bad for worrying him. still, the recognition doesn't settle in, and for all his smiling, it remains guarded. cautious. but there's something, something about this man... for a moment, as they talk, it feels like standing in the eye of the storm—no longer swept away by its winds, but simply watching them rage around himself.
it does feel familiar. ]
... Subaru? Is that your name?
[ he can't recall the face of that person, but he can remember the name, at least. if he really reaches, he can remember why too. a tour underground, trudging through empty subway tunnels with grim curiosity, and a cracked mask that he couldn't imagine letting anybody else pick—had taken for himself. but that feels far away. distant, as if long past. what's happening now is different. is it? there's doubt underlying the thought, but it feels difficult to disprove when it's still happening all around their quiet conversation. the panic, the screaming, and worst of all, the eerie calm that comes with her influence. ]
no subject
This brief interstice between storm and soul may be his only chance. The truth dances through the contours of his awareness; all he can do is navigate the flow of memory as it whispers in and roars back out. It wasn't the moon, its light red, wet. He gazes into the memory to see that it was darker, closer. So it was the subway...
He should have known better than to let him go so easily.
Warily, he keeps watch for the fungal influence, though he doesn't cast any spells to repel it. With how interwoven it's becoming with his psyche, he can't risk it. Not yet. ]
Yes, it is. [ Subaru pauses, then sits down next to him on the bench. ] Can you tell me...
[ Did he reach out because he knew...? ]
...what you called me for?
no subject
I don't like it.
[ tethers. even if he doesn't say the word aloud, subaru might know this—might have guessed through his reluctance, or perhaps read into it with that sharp insight of his. he could even feel it, if he tried. that vulnerability and uncertainty. the association choi holds between it, and risk. the risk of playing into sleep's very desires for them. the risk of losing himself. the risk of becoming contaminated, just like so many hosts before him. ]
But have you noticed?
[ even as he says it, it's still a mess. he can't direct it well, blindly grasping for whatever amongst the stack of scattered memories he can identify as his.
the images flicker through their connected consciousness. first, a striped, blackened arm that ends in what might be better described as a set of claws than fingers. something that subaru can see plainly in the place of the hand opposite of the one he's holding. contrasted against it: children. they stick close to you, an adult, with faces and bodies covered in pus-filled ulcers, infected mermaid 'tails' dragging behind them as they shuffle forward. it's contamination. the recognition is shared between the two of them.
but contamination has never been a solely physical change.
red. red, like the moon that hangs overhead. red, like the blood that stains his teeth and his tongue. red, as it poured from his wrist, and from that person's, and their shoulder, and—and while shame surrounds the memory, it's absent from the scene itself. euphoria. relief. it transitions back to third person—to a smiling, used-to-be-civilian clerk in a supermarket chain that shouldn't exist. they pull a still sane survivor closer, forcing a struggling arm into a blender with blades sharp enough to gut through skin, through muscle, through bone. and they're no different from those children: slowly dying, unable to so much as wish they could leave the sparkling ocean palace they see projected over the ruined remains of a city. in reality, it's little different from their own manhattan.
at least agent choi can still wish to leave. that thought is grasped tightly in his hand. it squeezes around subaru's as if it's his very last lifeline. as if this tether were the only thing that remains between himself and ruin. it might just be.
because maybe... that caution of his was unwarranted, just this once.
he leans back on the bench, his smile fallen and expression thoughtful. disasters, they tend to have a kind of narrative component to them, don't you think? they play on words, on emotions, on memories and experiences and tropes. they're never entirely baseless, or else there would simply be no way to combat them at all. it's the very thing that allowed their destruction king rookie have earned that name in the first place. with excellent logic, you can see what the ending to that story is—you can close that book.
agent choi isn't kim soleum. neither does he want to be. he can't close this book, not yet, but... maybe he can find a meaning in it.
maybe "connection is what makes us human".
he remembers struggling clearly. he remembers the too large moon and the instincts and impulses it's tried to force on him. he remembers the moments the sun sets, not once or even twice, but every night, and the paranoia it brings. he remembers a cautious comfort at sundown, reluctant but trying. holding his hand out to the person beside him. and he remembers, most of all, a sense of clarity and purpose—a weight lifted from his shoulders, a renewed vigor, as he'd stepped back onto charlottes stage.
he remembers feeling human, more so than he has during any of his time here. in that now so far away moment, he rests his head against subaru's shoulder beside him.
...
maybe he did know. would subaru blame him? ]
no subject
He sees it now, how long he's been struggling against nightfall. Subaru wanted to protect him so badly that he forced the connection in a moment of weakness and desperation. He doesn't know that he can trust this magic any more than Choi can trust the way these feral instincts have metastasized to his humanity.
But he decided long ago — doing something is better than the comfortable safety of doing nothing.
Is it selfish? It must be. Did he know? He must have.
He gazes at his hand clasped to his own, the tension banded brightly in his knuckles. Hands are a language. He knew this as an onmyouji, knows it now as a runecaster. They are the conduit through which words may be conveyed, the arbiters of all emotion, understanding, and human resonance. When he envisions it, a tether, he imagines something he can glance his fingertips off of, something he can touch. Energy he can bend into forms that better suit the cosmic bloom of his will. It's a language he's sought all his life. And it's terrifying in its potential. Hands are instruments of prayer, connection, and unthinkable violence. Subaru's scars burn, even if they remain unseen.
To feel human is to feel the breadth of it, even in the blinding syllables of regret. If Choi doesn't trust what his hands are becoming in the blood-melting presence of her, then Subaru will trust them for him.
Softly, so softly, he places his other hand over Choi's, thumb tracing the little bones beneath this skin.
So, he doesn't like tethers... ]
Do you like me, then?
[ To invoke, to speak, is the other conduit of language. It's how stories survive. ]
no subject
Haha! Sure, let's go with that.
[ it doesn't sound wrong.
agent choi does like his kindness—the heart that seems to bleed into his even though he doesn't quite deserve it at a time like this. perhaps he understands that precious, selfless instinct well enough himself, but it's rarely found in others. he likes that sharp thinking of his, but isn't that a necessity for their line of work? he likes his patience, and the way his too-fast world seems to slow down in a shared moment with him. what do they call that, again? theory of relativity, right? he likes sharing cigarettes with him too, and chatting under a moon that hangs far too close for comfort.
so he can say it easily: ]
Yeah. I like you, Subaru.
[ their connection may not have started out as anything special, or even particularly personal. no more than agent choi's instinct to protect him had been. they're both just exactly that kind of person; they can't turn their backs on someone in danger, or in need. is that the kind of situation it was?
in the beginning, maybe. but somehow, it did become important to him—the hand that was held out to him in a lonely place like this. ]
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I'm glad. [ His touch traces something on the back of Choi's hand. ] Is that why you kept it?
[ Their tether. ]
Even though I thought... it'd be fine. If you snapped it the moment the fighting was over.
[ Instead, it's become what allows him to be here. It's what allows him to find him every time, no matter how maligned the moonlight is. By his side on the bench. Sunken down into the tempestuous flutter of his soul, transmuting the sigil he draws on his hand from the physical to the spiritual. ]
I resolved to let you do that, if that's what you wanted.
[ Yet he hadn't. ]
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Hmm, that seems a little cold though?
[ after subaru went through all that trouble for him, enduring the crashing tsunami of agent choi's tumultuous heart. it strikes him as almost a little ungrateful to toss him aside so easily, though his reasons aren't entirely unselfish either.
if there's going to have to be someone at his side to endure through all of this... someone who he places his faith in, just like that blue eyed boy he'd been trying to reach, and someone he trusts well enough to let himself be seen in a moment of weakness like this? it's a tall order, certainly. even now he finds himself hesitant. reluctant.
but if it has to be someone, out of everyone he's met so far... ]
Well, anyway, I was the one who said we should make the most of what we've got.
[ just as he's done tonight, taking advantage of subaru's kind heart. ]
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...but isn't this always the way? His clumsy words, sowing hurt even now, no matter how good his intentions are. ]
Maybe you're right.
[ Where his fingers slacked in wonder, they now regain some of their strength. Enough to layer the sigils in a flat band of light on his skin. It permeates down through his physical body, into the tether, through bone and blood and delicate synapse. Subaru delivers this pathfinding spell to him deep in the recesses of his soul where all these memories coalesce. He doesn't force it this time. He wants Agent Choi to choose it. ]
If that's so... [ If he likes him enough. ] will you follow me out of this place?
[ Away from the grinning jaws of succumbence, poised like a trap. ]
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it's just that going back sounds nice right about now. ]
You're gonna keep holding my hand so I don't get lost?
[ there's a playful, teasing lilt to choi's words, straightening himself up and lifting his head from subaru's shoulder. his eyes rest first on his hand—their hands, really, fingers still intertwined. on the slowly fading glow of the sigil that's sunk into his skin. even dissipated he can feel its presence, warm and familiar. then, he turns his attention to subaru, smiling warmly—tiredly. ]
Alright, let's go then.
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A working exorcist's day is never over, it seems. ]
You can try it. That mark I left to you.
[ Once Choi rights himself, Subaru lets go of him with his topmost hand but keeps hold of him with the other. He pushes to a stand in a flutter of his runecast birds, some of which swoop low and then dart off ahead. Paused there, he finally pulls to beckon him up to his feet. Movement shatters some of succumbence's spell, though he can still feel the circling of its miasma, ready to exploit weakness. And weakness thrives here, in wounds, in scars, in the dream-torn faults of this reality.
Subaru hefts the weight of his hand up. ]
If you're having trouble finding your way, invoke it. It'll show you through.
[ Here, in these streets exsanguinated by the moon, or in the close corners of his heart, where all the things he fears and distrusts might actually dwell. All he needs to do is put his hand against the obstacle and watch the way the light works. ]
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but choi will allow himself to be pulled up to his feet, giving his legs a stretch and suppressing the yawn that gathers in the back of his throat. it wasn't such a bad nap, but now it's time to return to the waking world and all the responsibilities that come with it, right? so once he listens to subaru's explanation, choi will go ahead and reluctantly disentangle their hands himself. his shoulder still brushes against the other's, but he holds his out in front of him to examine it.
so it's that kind of spell, huh. ]
Okie-dokie.
[ as eloquent as ever in these broken, still burning remains of what manhattan had once been, he'll close his eyes. his hand is still held out, fingers splayed, but this isn't such a physical obstacle that he's facing anyway. rather, in the midst of these memories that don't belong to him, their sorrow and their fear and the eerie sense of peace that still licks at his heels, pulling and inviting him closer, there's something specific he's looking for. a lifeline that no longer feels quite so delicate as it once was.
and if choi wraps his hand around it, following it to its source...
it will guide him back to their manhattan, where he opens his eyes to a city no less broken, but now familiar enough to call his own.
the space at their feet and all around them is clear now of the blooms that had been attempting to embrace him in the dream, but his scar itches, and subaru will see it ringed around his neck: the beginnings of a kind of fungal lace. it's still early yet though—nothing that an absent set of fingernails can't dislodge, and choi looks down with an expression of distaste as he examines the remains. ]
Eugh. What the...
[ which is to say: he's probably fine now. ]
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Welcome back.
[ Because Choi is standing here with him now, squarely on the desolate pavement of a red-seethed Manhattan. The one that exists now, the real one — whatever it might count for. His sigil did its job, its ink dark and alive, drawing strength from that of their connection. No longer torn in two, oscillating between the conjured pull of memory and the hymn of the moon, Subaru can also breathe easier.
Though his expression does briefly snag on his scar's latticed intruder. He holds his hand out for it. ]
Does it hurt at all?
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[ this scar, it's probably easy to tell just by looking at it that it hasn't healed so well, but he'll place the latticed fungal growth in subaru's hand anyway if that's what he wants. his fingers linger for just a moment as they brush against his skin. then it's a glance to the ink marking the back of his hand, back to subaru, and choi'll reach that hand around to rest on his opposite shoulder, pulling him a little closer.
his grin starts off bright—proud, even. ]
Anyway, I knew I picked the right guy for the job~
[ before softening a bit. ]
Thanks. Again.
🎀
You can call on me anytime.
[ He nudges into his side. ]
We shouldn't stay here long. It's still not safe.
[ And, in leaving behind the bench, in moving forward, a quiet glyph ignites in his palm, burning the growth to ash in his closed fist. Let it be a warning to the rest of it. ]