![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fromastudio posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
almondinflowerthoughts in empty space
characters: mostly Tezuka, with Yamato and Yukimura cameos.
wordcount: about 1000
notes: belongs to the Shin Tokyo AU. I'd like to think it could stand on its own as an AU Tezuka character fic, but it probably, really can't. Context: Takes place following the events of The Forming of the Sixth and before the main Streets of Nippon story; Tezuka's defeat to Atobe lands him in a coma-state, followed by a period where he's exclusively stuck in VR space, waiting for his body to wake up.
Dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aiwritingfic; hopefully this will convince you that I'm not trying to turn Seigaku into the bad guys here.
When Kunimitsu wakes, his mind is heavy with the trace of old dreams.
Never mind that one's not supposed to dream within a coma, or at least the type of coma he's trapped himself in. The doctors have explained this, in terms of brainlobes and synapses and the regeneration of white matter. Yamato too, has explained it, in somewhat less technical language. This doesn't help Kunimitsu understand it at all, even though he understands most things. Tries to understand most things.
He tries to understand Fuji, although Fuji doesn't really want to be understood. He tries to understand Oishi, although the task is too simple for his mind and light-years beyond his heart. He understands what it means to be a runner. He understands what it means to fight. He understands that he is a Tezuka, and although he has yet to fully realise the weight and beauty that name carries, he understands enough. He never stops trying to understand.
He no longer tries to understand Yamato. Some things will never be comprehended. Some things have to be taken on childlike faith, as the stuff of dreams.
The dreams cling to him like leaves shaking in a mountain wind, like the sound of water running downhill. They remind him of the long sleep, and the time before – and the time now, an unending inbetween.
Yamato greets him into the now as if it is five years ago: It is summer. There is natural light everywhere. The air and soil are clean.
Yamato is smiling. Not like Mother, whose smile means nothing at all. Not like Father, whose smiles mean everything Kunimitsu can't understand yet. Yamato just smiles.
Kunimitsu looks around at the fake world, at the vast, formless void of space surrounding their feet, and concentrates on that smile.
"You took your time waking up." Yamato is dressed for fishing, or perhaps walking through a desert. His image is less than perfect, the reflection of a skill that will never match Kunimitsu’s own. It matters not; it is Yamato. "You really frightened us, Kunimitsu.”
Kunimitsu tries to remember in the face of Yamato’s explanations, but all the memories are dreams, pain, and Atobe Keigo’s glorious fighting.
“What should I do now?” he asks.
“Be yourself.” Yamato holds out a hand with too much hope in it. “I’ll come again.”
He disappears into reality, leaving Kunimitsu to deal with fuzzy data, imaginary visions, this world which is his only world for now.
#
One of the earliest things Yamato taught him was to keep his own counsel. “The curse and nature of the gift,” he said, slipping the bait onto its hook.
Kunimitsu watched the point at which the lines entered the water, the monofilament almost the colour of the sea, and waited. It was good practice. He has been waiting ever since.
He waits for Seigaku to be ready. He waits for Echizen to either understand what he’s doing or denounce him, with the breathtaking purity with which Echizen decides everything.
Most of all, he waits for Yamato. But waiting for Yamato is like waiting for fish to bite; he is, after all, the one who taught Kunimitsu how to become unreadable.
#
They come to see him. Oishi first, worried and caring and organised. Kunimitsu cannot separate Oishi from the work he brings; he is, first and foremost, grateful for the work Oishi brings. What else can one do in virtual reality?
“When should we tell them?” Oishi wants to know. The truth cannot be hidden much longer. He has the charts and figures to prove it. Reality has not waited for Kunimitsu; reality has rushed on, inexorably, and is impatiently waiting for him to catch up.
“Not now,” he says. “Not yet.”
“But soon,” insists Oishi. He does not have to insist. The soon is inevitable. Inui must have guessed by now. Fuji must suspect.
Echizen is unlikely to know, but he is unlikely to be surprised. Kunimitsu has only managed to surprise Echizen once, and he is still paying for the price of that achievement.
#
Be himself? Being himself can't pass the time. Ryuuzaki and Fuji and Momo all visit, but that only occupies a few hours in any given week. Echizen comes once, and stays longer than expected. Kunimitsu did not think that Echizen could understand a language other than strength.
He is, nevertheless, Echizen. He goes where the wind and his immutable power take him. When these years are over, when Kunimitsu has accomplished all that he has tried for, these wild days in Seigaku, when he can stand without burdens again, it will be a privilege if Echizen bothers to turn back, to look over his shoulder.
He thinks he can give Echizen something that he needs, but the truth is that it doesn't need to be Kunimitsu. It could have been Atobe. It could have been Yamato.
It could have been Yukimura.
It's Kunimitsu who seeks out Yukimura and not vice-versa, although it would surprise everyone who knows them, although nine times out of ten it would be Yukimura who does the searching. Maybe it's because Yukimura knew that he would come, because Kunimitsu is not as unreadable as Yamato.
“Welcome to my world,” he says, with a smile Kunimitsu can't even begin to decipher. He didn't come here to see the false face, the false child's eyes. All Yukimura is is Yukimura's beautiful broken mind, and touching it, for Kunimitsu, is like open wounds embracing open wounds. Like the mingling of blood.
“No shields at all? Not even Sanada dares to do that.”
He wants to ask Yukimura how he has borne it for so long, but fears to add hurt where there is already obviously so much.
“I think I'm tired of looking up at you,” says the child, and changes into someone Kunimitsu's height, with eyes that blaze with the passion to change worlds. It is the kind of passion Kunimitsu believes he sees in Yamato.
#
“A country where children do not die of guns, drugs, or on the streets. That's something worth sacrificing for, don't you think, Kunimitsu?”
Kunimitsu thinks so. He has thought so for years. He thinks so, even in this place where he can do nothing but wait.
He thinks the time is coming. You cannot predict when fish will bite; still, he thinks the time is coming.
It is coming.
On to Chapter 6.
characters: mostly Tezuka, with Yamato and Yukimura cameos.
wordcount: about 1000
notes: belongs to the Shin Tokyo AU. I'd like to think it could stand on its own as an AU Tezuka character fic, but it probably, really can't. Context: Takes place following the events of The Forming of the Sixth and before the main Streets of Nippon story; Tezuka's defeat to Atobe lands him in a coma-state, followed by a period where he's exclusively stuck in VR space, waiting for his body to wake up.
Dedicated to
aiwritingfic; hopefully this will convince you that I'm not trying to turn Seigaku into the bad guys here. When Kunimitsu wakes, his mind is heavy with the trace of old dreams.
Never mind that one's not supposed to dream within a coma, or at least the type of coma he's trapped himself in. The doctors have explained this, in terms of brainlobes and synapses and the regeneration of white matter. Yamato too, has explained it, in somewhat less technical language. This doesn't help Kunimitsu understand it at all, even though he understands most things. Tries to understand most things.
He tries to understand Fuji, although Fuji doesn't really want to be understood. He tries to understand Oishi, although the task is too simple for his mind and light-years beyond his heart. He understands what it means to be a runner. He understands what it means to fight. He understands that he is a Tezuka, and although he has yet to fully realise the weight and beauty that name carries, he understands enough. He never stops trying to understand.
He no longer tries to understand Yamato. Some things will never be comprehended. Some things have to be taken on childlike faith, as the stuff of dreams.
The dreams cling to him like leaves shaking in a mountain wind, like the sound of water running downhill. They remind him of the long sleep, and the time before – and the time now, an unending inbetween.
Yamato greets him into the now as if it is five years ago: It is summer. There is natural light everywhere. The air and soil are clean.
Yamato is smiling. Not like Mother, whose smile means nothing at all. Not like Father, whose smiles mean everything Kunimitsu can't understand yet. Yamato just smiles.
Kunimitsu looks around at the fake world, at the vast, formless void of space surrounding their feet, and concentrates on that smile.
"You took your time waking up." Yamato is dressed for fishing, or perhaps walking through a desert. His image is less than perfect, the reflection of a skill that will never match Kunimitsu’s own. It matters not; it is Yamato. "You really frightened us, Kunimitsu.”
Kunimitsu tries to remember in the face of Yamato’s explanations, but all the memories are dreams, pain, and Atobe Keigo’s glorious fighting.
“What should I do now?” he asks.
“Be yourself.” Yamato holds out a hand with too much hope in it. “I’ll come again.”
He disappears into reality, leaving Kunimitsu to deal with fuzzy data, imaginary visions, this world which is his only world for now.
One of the earliest things Yamato taught him was to keep his own counsel. “The curse and nature of the gift,” he said, slipping the bait onto its hook.
Kunimitsu watched the point at which the lines entered the water, the monofilament almost the colour of the sea, and waited. It was good practice. He has been waiting ever since.
He waits for Seigaku to be ready. He waits for Echizen to either understand what he’s doing or denounce him, with the breathtaking purity with which Echizen decides everything.
Most of all, he waits for Yamato. But waiting for Yamato is like waiting for fish to bite; he is, after all, the one who taught Kunimitsu how to become unreadable.
They come to see him. Oishi first, worried and caring and organised. Kunimitsu cannot separate Oishi from the work he brings; he is, first and foremost, grateful for the work Oishi brings. What else can one do in virtual reality?
“When should we tell them?” Oishi wants to know. The truth cannot be hidden much longer. He has the charts and figures to prove it. Reality has not waited for Kunimitsu; reality has rushed on, inexorably, and is impatiently waiting for him to catch up.
“Not now,” he says. “Not yet.”
“But soon,” insists Oishi. He does not have to insist. The soon is inevitable. Inui must have guessed by now. Fuji must suspect.
Echizen is unlikely to know, but he is unlikely to be surprised. Kunimitsu has only managed to surprise Echizen once, and he is still paying for the price of that achievement.
Be himself? Being himself can't pass the time. Ryuuzaki and Fuji and Momo all visit, but that only occupies a few hours in any given week. Echizen comes once, and stays longer than expected. Kunimitsu did not think that Echizen could understand a language other than strength.
He is, nevertheless, Echizen. He goes where the wind and his immutable power take him. When these years are over, when Kunimitsu has accomplished all that he has tried for, these wild days in Seigaku, when he can stand without burdens again, it will be a privilege if Echizen bothers to turn back, to look over his shoulder.
He thinks he can give Echizen something that he needs, but the truth is that it doesn't need to be Kunimitsu. It could have been Atobe. It could have been Yamato.
It could have been Yukimura.
It's Kunimitsu who seeks out Yukimura and not vice-versa, although it would surprise everyone who knows them, although nine times out of ten it would be Yukimura who does the searching. Maybe it's because Yukimura knew that he would come, because Kunimitsu is not as unreadable as Yamato.
“Welcome to my world,” he says, with a smile Kunimitsu can't even begin to decipher. He didn't come here to see the false face, the false child's eyes. All Yukimura is is Yukimura's beautiful broken mind, and touching it, for Kunimitsu, is like open wounds embracing open wounds. Like the mingling of blood.
“No shields at all? Not even Sanada dares to do that.”
He wants to ask Yukimura how he has borne it for so long, but fears to add hurt where there is already obviously so much.
“I think I'm tired of looking up at you,” says the child, and changes into someone Kunimitsu's height, with eyes that blaze with the passion to change worlds. It is the kind of passion Kunimitsu believes he sees in Yamato.
“A country where children do not die of guns, drugs, or on the streets. That's something worth sacrificing for, don't you think, Kunimitsu?”
Kunimitsu thinks so. He has thought so for years. He thinks so, even in this place where he can do nothing but wait.
He thinks the time is coming. You cannot predict when fish will bite; still, he thinks the time is coming.
It is coming.
On to Chapter 6.
