Work Text:
The structure stood proud and tall before him, wide and consuming his entire vision. His eyes swam in the sight that lay spread across the blue sky, the stone columns standing at attention like a row of well-groomed soldiers. The 34-year-old caught his breath in his throat, very much aware of the fact that he didn’t have to go in if he didn’t want to. But the sculpted statues on the building seemed to glower down at him, pinning him at his spot by the base of the stairs.
His hands were getting sweaty, heart slowly accelerating in their timed beats. The memories were already flooding in, threatening to kick out his legs from underneath him. The only thing keeping him from floating away into his usual daydreams of pain were the constant bumps of passing people against his shoulders. Even at this time of the day, the library was busy and he was beginning to realize just how strange he looked just standing there in the center of the path.
Before he could doubt himself any further, he allowed himself to be swept forward by the crowd, his legs walking mechanically towards the looming entrance. It had been years since he’d last stepped into this place, but the distinct smell that greeted his nostrils was already enough to bring the tears to his eyes. He squinted them away. He wouldn’t be bawling out in public. At least, not today.
His consciousness floated above himself at some point as he passed under the arching entrance, giving him the familiar feeling of dissociation. Like he was sitting back and watching a movie. A pathetic movie about his own life.
His hands didn’t seem to be his own as they unzipped the backpack to have the guard on attendance inspect it. Even as he shrugged the straps back on, he still couldn’t quite ground himself. It was better this way, though. Derealization had always helped him cope with the unbearable amount of emotion he had to go through on a regular basis. Sometimes it was just better to feel nothing at all. To feel like you’re in a dream. To feel like things hadn’t actually happened.
He watched himself, glancing up at the towering ceiling and at the beautiful architecture that curved along the edges of the pillars. The library was one big masterpiece of carefully structured corridors and interior. The Eiji from fifteen years ago would have spent the entire day wide-eyed and mouth agape at the magnificence of it all. A tourist in an unfamiliar land. A tourist who saw nothing more but the things before him at face value.
But he wasn’t that Eiji from fifteen years ago. All he could simply do now was stare blandly at the golden creases and artistically-carved mouldings above him.
His feet moved, carrying him numbly towards the dreaded place he had irrationally feared for all these years. Passing large rooms of displayed artwork and painted walls, he did not so much as glance at the museums or the gilded ceilings. His body was drawn to the even larger reading room like iron filings being sucked to a magnet--- fast, piece by piece.
The main reading room---- it was beautiful. It always had been. Eiji could hear himself choke a little at the grandness of it all, presented before him in tones of brilliant light and an air of serenity. He couldn’t handle it. As his eyes wandered along the many rows of long tables, the lump in his throat had taken over his entire chest. He wanted to turn around and run.
But he didn’t.
That was the thing with Eiji Okumura. Whenever he was being told to stay away, to move, to run, there always seemed to be something else in the universe that made him do otherwise.
He carefully entered the room as if walking on thin ice, afraid to break the fragility of the moment. There was the hushed words exchanged between the students to his left, the flipping of pages up ahead, and the ringing of his ears that seemed to split his thumping skull. With the numbness deep inside continuing to gnaw at his systems, Eiji headed for the bookshelves.
He made sure not to look at the tables. Just straight up ahead to where the grand collection of books lay organized in categories of various subjects. Hesitantly, he brushed a hand along the spines, ignoring the titles that murmured beneath his fingertips.
Then the memories began, one by one.
And for the first time in a long while, he allowed them to. They started filling up the corners of his head, stuffing themselves into every nook and cranny. His hair, his smile, his eyes. The memories were dancing along the books themselves, swimming across his visions in pairs. Their first meeting, every single rescue, every single embrace. It whispered in his ears. Laughter and warnings and sweet silences. His eyes, his eyes, his eyes. Jade green. The titles beneath his fingers seemed to scream at him now.
The snow, the letter, the blood. The blood.
There must not have been enough space to fill everything in because the memories then began to trickle down his cheeks in rivulets of heavy tears. He hiccupped. He couldn’t stop. God, he couldn’t stop. The blood, the blood, the blood.
Then the horrible guilt came as a punch to the gut. Sinking, sinking, sinking.
“Mister, why are you crying?”
The soft voice pierced through the moment like a bullet train, leaving Eiji feeling rushed and panicked. He whipped his head down to where the words had come from, finding himself in the presence of those green eyes.
His breath hitched.
He couldn’t have been more than 10.
“Mister, why are you crying?” the little boy repeated, green eyes still shimmering like the ones in Eiji’s memories. It almost overpowered the redness that clung at the edges of his vision.
“Uhm…” Eiji’s voice came out scratchy so he cleared his throat, unconsciously bringing up an arm to wipe at his face. His mind was rolling over itself, the words unable to form itself into comprehensible sentences. So he said, quite lamely, “I’m just… I remembered something from long ago.”
The little boy with the green eyes furrowed his brows. He fidgeted with the books he held in his grasp, lips slightly trembling. He pursed them tightly after a pause and cast his green gaze to the floor as he replied quietly, “Mister doesn’t look pretty when he cries.”
The statement made Eiji blink, the fog that filled itself in his head swirling around in its heaviness as he tried to see through to reality. He looked down at the little boy. His dark hair fell in fluffy clumps over those beautiful jade eyes--- eyes he knew he had seen somewhere before--- and a quiet aura exuded from his small, hunched form. But those eyes. It was those eyes that prodded at his insides and refused to leave.
Something resonated in the photographer’s chest as he continued to process what was happening. But as soon as he stumbled upon one certain thought, he roughly shoved it away to the corners of his mind, not wanting to believe in hope and possibilities. Not wanting to hurt himself as much as he had done already.
With a tired smile, he wiped away the remaining tears and bent down. The little boy stumbled back at his abrupt action, fumbling as he tried to keep the books from tumbling out of his arms.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! I was… I was just thinking… Uhm, do you like books maybe?” Eiji asked, turning his attention to the pile the boy clung on to, hoping to earn his trust more by smiling a little wider. Though he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to somehow get to know this one little kid better. It’s not hope, it’s not hope, and so he told himself. He just wanted to return the favor for helping him snap out of the memories. It’s not hope, it’s not hope. And so he fooled himself.
The boy huffed, repositioning the books. “Yes. These ones have great stories. Real ones. About the war. The Nazis.”
Eiji let out a low whistle. The thoughts from earlier were immediately replaced by surprise at hearing the boy’s reply. It was quite rare to find someone so young be interested in such complex history on world wars and political terror. When he thought of children, he thought of playgrounds of sand, play-pretend heroes and dragons, sticking tongues out at vegetables. He would never have images of classically-bound publications and masterfully architected libraries come to mind.
“Is that so? What do you find great about them?”
“I like that they’re true. You can’t hide wars behind princess castles or magical wands. These stories never lie. I hate lies,” the boy answered, the certainty in his words amusing Eiji a little too much. The fondness that had been there since the beginning only began to grow even bigger.
Eiji watched as the first book fell out, followed by the second. The boy frowned at this and tried to reach for them but as he did, the rest of the books jumped out of his wobbling grasp and landed noisily to the floor. “Tsk.”
The disappointed sound the boy made was enough to send Eiji into rounds of short chuckles. This brought the boy to look up at him again, the emotion of surprise dancing in the way his eyebrows shot up.
Eiji tried to stifle his giddiness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Here, let me help.”
“No, it’s alright. I can do it myself.”
The boy began to pick up the books. One. Two. Three. Four. How many did this little guy intend to go through today? When he stood up again, books in a neat pile atop his arms, his eyes catch onto the last one that had dropped to the farthest corner. Eiji reached over for it.
The little boy acknowledged this and nodded, humorously grave. “You can help me by holding on to that one.”
Eiji chuckled again.
Without another word, the boy turned around and headed for the main reading room, the confidence in his steps unmistakable. He must come here a lot, thought Eiji. The little guy looked like the master of the place, and he was probably not even ten yet.
Eiji followed him into the large room, ignoring the aching sensation in his chest when his gaze traveled across the tables. The boy struggled as he heaved the pile onto one of them and then he did the same with his own little body, clambering onto the chair. Eiji paused in his steps when those green eyes found their way back to his again, a warm breeze suddenly wafting past.
“Do you like books too, mister?”
Eiji bit the inside of his cheeks hard, trying to ground himself in reality as he pulled up a nearby chair to sit next to the boy.
“I don’t read a lot, to be honest,” he replied, a bit shamefully.
And as if compelled by some sort of invisible force--- most possibly the warm breeze from a few seconds ago---, he added softly, “But I had a friend who did.”
The boy cocked his head. The green eyes followed the motion. It was mesmerizing, how the shades in them shifted and changed. “Who’s your friend, mister?”
The question felt like a brick hitting his head, muddling the thoughts that began to swirl amidst the panic. But he managed to choke out his next answer. “He was a good guy. No… Good is too common a word. He was someone far from common. He was…”
He pondered about it for a little, refusing to let the green eyes that were watching him make their way into the depths of his heart. “He was untamable. A wildcat. A… A lynx. He thought of himself as a leopard, but I told him he wasn’t. He really wasn’t.”
It was when the words were out in the open air that Eiji finally broke and now he couldn’t stop. “I miss him. I left him a letter, you see, but he never wrote one back. I told him I was going to be by his side forever but now he’s left me and while I don’t have the right to say that it’s unfair, I think it is. How can he just leave so casually when I’m here being weighed down by the replies he never wrote back? How can he finally find a way to be truly free while I’m stuck here with this stupid guilt I’ve been chained to for years? How can he be so selfless, and yet, so selfish at the same time? How can he, how can he---“
He gulped, and once again, he found himself in the presence of his own tears and those beautiful, green eyes. They were glued to him and as Eiji continued to babble on about his misery, they never once wavered in their changing shades. Peridot, emerald, jade. The green continued to listen as he poured out his heart onto the cursed table in front of him. He felt like he was bleeding.
When his words finally stuttered to a stop, Eiji let out a long and shaky breath, watching as it disappeared amongst the breaths of several others who occupied the space. A few gazes were pointed in his direction, probably spurred on by his stifled cries and almost drunken sobbing. The realization of having bawled out in a public space finally registered inside his boggled state and he began to wipe furiously at his disheveled face even though he knew there were just some things one can’t un-see. Especially if that thing was of a middle-aged man weeping pathetically as he narrated the parts of his sad life to some 10-year-old who loved reading about wars and Hitler.
“Are you done, mister?”
Eiji cleared his throat, running a shaky hand through his hair as he tried to pick up his pride again. He looked down at the boy whose own hands were set on top of his books, unmoving. Immediately, Eiji was overwhelmed by the feeling of even further shame and guilt, this time brought about by a pair of young, green eyes.
He stuttered, sitting up a little straighter and pushing himself away a little, “Oh my--- I’m so sorry, I got carried away by--- God, I’m so sorry. I’m sure you’ve been wanting to read those books of yours, right? I’m so sorry, you must be pretty mad to have your time be wasted on a---“
“Was your friend nice?”
“Uhm--- excuse me?”
“Was he nice?”
Eiji blinked at this. His racing heart still hammered against his chest, but as he turned the question around in his head, the beats began to slow down and he was finally able to breathe more easily now. It was strange, how a simple question asked by some stranger of a kid could make him calm down. It was strange but he wasn’t not thankful.
“Yeah…. Yeah, he was a nice guy,” Eiji paused. “He had green eyes just like you.”
The little boy perked up at this and humorously crossed his eyes, like he was trying to get a glimpse of their beautiful color. Eiji laughed and it somehow sounded alien to his ears. It had been awhile since he had heard it so clear and genuine.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with the little boy turning page after page of his history books and Eiji simply observing him, the books, the library itself. The memories were still dripping like paint and the more he sat there, the more he could feel them sink deeper into his skin and mark themselves permanently into his denying brain. But he allowed them to, even as they occasionally brought another round of tears to his eyes and even as the little boy halted in his reading to watch him softly from a distance.
Eiji could feel those green eyes on him, as he allowed the tears to stain the mahogany wood below and as his fingers found their way to the spines of one of his books. And when he would hiccup himself to a stop with no more tears left to shed, the boy would return to the stories his hands held in between their small hold. He would start his reading again. Eiji would then be watching him.
For the first time in a long while, he felt he wasn’t alone.
As the daylight began to filter out and the people began to gather their belongings, Eiji watched as two figures appeared by the entrance. A man and a woman approached in hurried steps toward them, suspicion glinting in their eyes as they turned toward Eiji who was sitting in close proximity to their son.
His heart picked up its familiar race again but before Eiji could explain the situation, the little boy spoke for him, “Mister was crying so I allowed him to carry one of my books for me.”
The explanation was a completely vague one--- as evidenced by a raise of an eyebrow from the parents--- but neither of the two said anything else to Eiji. They simply told the boy that it was time to go home and to return the books to where he had gotten them.
When his little footsteps echoed away into the bookshelves, Eiji faced the pair and bowed apologetically. “I’m very sorry, but I promise I didn’t mean any bad intentions for getting close to your son. It was true, what he said earlier. He helped me out when I was alone.” He raised his head, forcing his gaze to meet theirs. “You have a very nice boy. Please make him happy.”
The words weren’t of the normal sort, but the mother finally relaxed her furrowed brow and allowed for a little smile. “Oh he is. And thank you. You don’t seem to be the bad type at all. He loves it here and always drops by alone. You’ll understand our wariness of anyone who’s in touching distance with him, I hope.”
The father chimed in. He had the same green eyes but his were much wiser. “The little guy just can’t let go of his science novels and history books. He’s a smart kid so I know he won’t take any risky actions like trust strangers. But he must have taken quite a liking to you.”
Eiji was about to reply after a small pause, but the boy had returned and so did those green eyes.
The mother held out a hand to her son to which he took, cheerfully. The green sparkled as he began to tell his mother the stories his books told him. “… and then the planes came and the people fled…”
The two began to head towards the entrance but the father remained. His murky greens seemed even darker with the shade of concern shining through. “But my son said something about you crying earlier? I know it’s not my business, but did something happen? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Is there anything I can do?
If there was, Eiji would have asked for it a long time ago. He shook his head politely and returned with a smile of his own. “Your son has done enough. Thank you very much and I wish your family the best of health.”
The father hesitated for a moment but must have seen his determination because he pinched his lips together in a small gesture of ‘sorry’. Eiji was used to these kinds of replies. The people around him never seemed to run out of apologies. Though it would be hypocritical of him to actually say so. Eiji himself was filled to the brim with these very same apologies.
The father then tilted his head a little, unsure words making their way out of his mouth. “I’m sorry if I’m mistaken, but I think I know you from somewhere. As a… A writer, perhaps? Or---“
“Honey! It’s going to be dark out soon!” His wife called out for him and he turned around to see her and the green eyes, waiting. A happy family. A complete one.
He looked to Eiji once more, smiling gently, “Thank you very much for looking after our boy. Have a nice evening.”
The father rushed to his family. The green eyes were watching him. They were watching Eiji. Jade. They were jade. In them, Eiji could see a plethora of memories. New York streets, beds in which nightmares slept, a letter written in blood.
The little boy waved. “Goodbye mister!”
Eiji waved back, but he did not reply with those same words.
He wasn’t going to anymore.
Those jade, green eyes were going to haunt him and he was beginning to think maybe that wasn’t too bad of a ghost to deal with anymore. There were history books and golden libraries and quiet prodigies attached to them now.